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SEYMOUR  DURST 


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Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


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THE  LONG  DAY 

THE  STORY  OF  A  NEW  YORK  WORK- 
ING GIRL  #  #  AS  TOLD  BY  HERSELF 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1906 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published  October,  1905 


THE  DEVINNE  PRE88 


TO  MY  THREE  "LADY-FRIENDS" 


Happy,  fortunate  Minnie;  Bessie,  of  gentle 
memory;  and  that  other,  silent  figure  in  the 
tragedy  of  Failure,  the  long-lost,  erring  Eunice, 
with  the  hope  that,  if  she  still  lives,  her  eye 
may  chance  to  fall  upon  this  page,  and  read- 
ing the  message  of  this  book,  she  may  heed. 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE  TO  THE 
THIRD  EDITION 


It  is  now  four  months  since  the  modest  advent  of 
this  anonymous  work  into  the  world  of  books  and  dur- 
ing this  time  probably  more  space  has  been  devoted 
to  reviews  of  it  than  to  any  other  publication  of  the 
year. 

At  first  reading  the  public  looked  askance  at  what 
seemed  to  be  another  contribution  to  the  already 
long  list  of  semi-sociological  novels  and  dilettante 
treatises  on  the  condition  of  the  poor.  Then  gradu- 
ally it  dawned  on  those  who  read  that  here  was  a  re- 
markable book — a  book  that  touched  the  heart  and 
gripped  the  interest  and  quickened  the  imagina- 
tion of  those  who  knew  but  vaguely  how  the  other 
half  lives;  a  book  big  with  possibilities — not  revolu- 
tionary in  theory  or  suggestion,  merely  a  narrative 
of  great  human  interest  told  with  such  vividness  and 
power  and  almost  terrifying  realism  that  the  com- 
fortably housed  and  narrowly  benevolent  rubbed  their 
eyes  and  said,  "  Can  such  things  be  in  this  enlightened 
20th  Century  ?"    Already  this  little  book  has  borne 

vii 


PUBLISHER  S  NOTE 


fruit;  inspired  by  its  lesson  and  enthused  by  its 
suggestions,  no  less  than  four  separate  projects  are 
on  foot  looking  to  the  economic  housing  and  feeding 
of  New  York's  underpaid  working  girls ;  and  the 
anonymous  author  has  been  besieged  through  her 
publishers  with  innumerable  appeals  from  individuals 
and  societies  to  give  her  aid  in  the  work  of  moral 
regeneration  and  economic  reform  among  the  working- 
girls  of  various  cities. 

That  this  book  is  accurate  in  its  picture  of  condi- 
tions and  sound  in  its  psychology  is  overwhelmingly 
attested  by  people  who  know  and  whose  opinions  are 
quoted  in  the  back  of  this  volume.  But  it  has  often 
been  asked:  "How  far  is  the  heroine's  story  true — 
did  she  actually  undergo  all  the  experiences — and 
through  sheer  neccessity — that  she  claims  to  in  the 
book  ? ' '  The  author  answers  this  in  her  epilogue. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  only  time,  place  and  names  are 
sometimes  changed  or  transposed  for  obvious  reasons. 
To  quote  The  World's  Work,  this  '  6 is  a  piece  of  fiction 
that  is  true." 

New  York,  March  4,  1906. 


viii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  In  which  I  Arrive  in  New  York  ....  3 

ii  In  which  I  Start  Out  in  Quest  of  Work  16 

hi  I  Try  "  Light  "  Housekeeping  in  a  Four- 
teenth-street Lodging-house    ....  27 

iv  Wherein  Fate  Brings  Me  Good  Fortune 

in   One   Hand  and   Disaster   in  the 
Other  44 

v  In  which  I  am  "  Learned  '  by  Phosbe  in 

the  Art  of  Box-making  58 

vi  In  which  Phozbe  and  Mrs.  Smith  Hold 

Forth  upon  Music  and  Literature  .    .  75 

vii  In  which  I  Acquire  a  Story-book  Name 
and  Make  the  Acquaintance  of  Miss 
Henrietta  Manners  92 

vin  Wherein  I  Walk  through  Dark  and  De- 
vious Ways  with  Henrietta  Manners  .  108 

ix  Introducing  Henrietta's  "  Special  Gen- 

tleman-friend "  123 

x  In  which  I  Find  Myself  a  Homeless  Wan- 

derer in  the  Night  142 

xi  I  Become  an  "  Inmate  "  of  a  Home  for 

Working  Girls  151 

ix 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xii  In  which  I  Spend  a  Happy  Four  Weeks 

Making  Artificial  Flowers     .    .    .    .  180 

xm  Three  "  Lady-friends/'  and  the  Adven- 
tures that  Befall  Them  197 

xiv  In  which  a  Tragic  Fate  Overtakes  my 

"Lady-friends"  215 

xv  I  Become  a  "  Shaker  "  in  a  Steam-laun- 

dry  229 

xvi  In  which  it  is  Proved  to  Me  that  the 
Darkest  Hour  Comes  Just  Before  the 
Dawn  249 

Epilogue  .  266 


x 


THE  LONG  DAY 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I 

IN  WHICH  I  ARRIVE  IN  NEW  YORK 

THE  rain  was  falling  in  great  gray  blobs 
upon  the  skylight  of  the  little  room  in  which 
I  opened  my  eyes  on  that  February  morn- 
ing whence  dates  the  chronological  beginning  of  this 
autobiography.  The  jangle  of  a  bell  had  awakened 
me,  and  its  harsh,  discordant  echoes  were  still  trem- 
bling upon  the  chill  gloom  of  the  daybreak.  Lying 
there,  I  wondered  whether  I  had  really  heard  a  bell 
ringing,  or  had  only  dreamed  it.  Everything  about 
me  was  so  strange,  so  painfully  new.  Never  before 
had  I  waked  to  find  myself  in  that  dreary,  window- 
less  little  room,  and  never  before  had  I  lain  in  that 
narrow,  unfriendly  bed. 

Staring  hard  at  the  streaming  skylight,  I  tried 
to  think,  to  recall  some  one  of  the  circumstances  that 

S 


THE  LONG  DAY 

might  possibly  account  for  my  having  entered  that 
room  and  for  my  having  laid  me  down  on  that  cot. 
When?  and  how?  and  why?  How  inexplicable  it 
all  was  in  those  first  dazed  moments  *after  that  rude 
awakening!  And  then,  as  the  fantasies  of  a  dream 
gradually  assume  a  certain  vague  order  in  the  wak- 
ing recollection,  there  came  to  me  a  confused  con- 
sciousness of  the  events  of  the  preceding  twenty- 
four  hours — the  long  journey  and  the  weariness  of 
it;  the  interminable  frieze  of  flying  landscape,  with 
its  dreary,  snow-covered  stretches  blurred  with  black 
towns;  the  shriek  of  the  locomotive  as  it  plunged 
through  the  darkness ;  the  tolling  of  ferry-bells,  and 
then,  at  last,  the  slow  sailing  over  a  black  river  toward 
and  into  a  giant  city  that  hung  splendid  upon  the 
purple  night,  turret  upon  turret,  and  tower  upon 
tower,  their  myriad  lights  burning  side  by  side  with 
the  stars,  a  city  such  as  the  prophets  saw  in  visions, 
a  city  such  as  dreamy  childhood  conjures  up  in  the 
muster  of  summer  clouds  at  sunset. 

Suddenly  out  of  this  chaotic  recollection  of  un- 
earthly splendors  came  the  memory,  sharp  and  pinch- 
ing, of  a  new-made  grave  on  a  wind-swept  hill  in 
western  Pennsylvania.  With  equal  suddenness,  too, 
the  fugue  of  thundering  locomotives,  and  shrieking 
whistles,  and  sad,  sweet  tollings  of  ferry -bells  massed 

4 


THE  LONG  DAY 


itself  into  the  clangorous  music  of  a  terrifying  mon- 
ody— "  WORK  OR  STARVE,  WORK  OR  STARVE  !  " 

And  then  I  remembered !  An  unskilled,  friendless, 
almost  penniless  girl  of  eighteen,  utterly  alone  in 
the  world,  I  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  city  which 
I  had  not  yet  so  much  as  seen  by  daylight.  I  was 
a  waif  and  a  stray  in  the  mighty  city  of  New  York. 
Here  I  had  come  to  live  and  to  toil — out  of  the 
placid  monotony  of  a  country  town  into  the  storm 
and  stress  of  the  wide,  wide,  workaday  world.  Very 
wide  awake  now,  I  jumped  out  of  bed  upon  the  cold 
oil-cloth  and  touched  a  match  to  the  pile  of  paper 
and  kindling-wood  in  the  small  stove.  There  was 
a  little  puddle  of  water  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
under  the  skylight,  and  the  drip  in  falling  had 
brushed  against  the  sleeve  of  my  shirt-waist  and 
soaked  into  the  soles  of  my  only  pair  of  shoes.  I 
dressed  as  quickly  as  the  cold  and  my  sodden  gar- 
ments permitted.  On  the  washstand  I  found  a  small 
tin  ewer  and  a  small  tin  basin  to  match,  and  I  dabbed 
myself  gingerly  in  the  cold,  stale  water. 

Another  jangle  of  the  harsh  bell,  and  I  went  down 
dark  stairs  to  the  basement  and  to  breakfast,  won- 
dering if  I  should  be  able  to  recognize  Miss  Jamison ; 
for  I  had  caught  but  a  glimpse  of  my  new  landlady 
on  my  arrival  the  previous  midnight.   Wrapped  in  a 

5 


THE  LONG  DAY 

faded  French  flannel  kimono,  her  face  smeared  with 
cold  cream,  her  hair  done  up  in  curling  "  kids,"  she 
had  met  and  arranged  terms  with  me  on  the  landing 
in  front  of  her  bedroom  door  as  the  housemaid  con- 
ducted me  aloft.  Making  due  allowance  for  the 
youth-and-beauty-destroying  effects  of  the  kimono, 
curling  "  kids,"  and  cold  cream,  and  substituting 
in  their  stead  a  snug  corset,  an  undulated  pompa- 
dour, and  a  powdered  countenance,  respectively,  I 
knew  about  what  to  look  for  in  the  daylight  Miss 
Jamison.  A  short,  plump,  blonde  lady  in  the  middle 
forties,  I  predicted  to  myself.  The  secretary  of  the 
Young  Women's  Christian  Association,  to  which  I 
had  written  some  weeks  before  for  information  as  to 
respectable  and  cheap  boarding-houses,  had  re- 
sponded with  a  number  of  names  and  addresses, 
among  them  that  of  Miss  Elmira  Jamison,  "  a  lady 
of  very  high  Christian  ideals." 

Miss  Jamison  was  no  disappointment.  She  ful- 
filled perfectly  all  my  preconceived  notions  of  what 
she  would  look  like  when  properly  attired.  Spying 
me  the  moment  I  got  inside  the  dining-room  door, 
she  immediately  pounced  upon  me  and  hurried  me 
off  to  a  seat,  when  a  girl  in  a  dirty  white  apron 
began  to  unload  off  a  tray  a  clatter  of  small  dishes 
under  my  nose,  while  another  servant  tossed  a  wet, 

6 


THE  LONG  DAY 


warm  napkin  upon  my  plate.  My  breakfast  con- 
sisted of  heterogeneous  little  dabs  of  things  in  the 
collection  of  dishes,  and  which  I  ate  with  not  the 
greatest  relish  in  the  world. 

There  were  several  score  of  breakf asters  in  tlje 
two  big  rooms,  which  seemed  to  occupy  the  entire 
basement  floor.  They  ate  at  little  tables  set  uncom- 
fortably close  together.  Gradually  my  general  ob- 
servations narrowed  down  to  the  people  at  my  own 
table.  I  noticed  a  young  man  opposite  who  wore 
eye-glasses  and  a  carefully  brushed  beard;  an  old 
lady,  with  a  cataract  in  her  left  eye,  who  sat  at  the 
far  end  of  the  table ;  a  little  fidgety,  stupid-looking, 
and  very  ugly  woman  who  sat  next  the  bearded 
young  man ;  and  a  young  girl,  with  dancing,  ro- 
guish black  eyes,  who  sat  beside  me.  The  bearded 
young  man  talked  at  a  great  rate,  and  judging  from 
the  cackling  laughter  of  the  fidgety  woman  and  the 
intensely  interested  expression  of  the  cataracted 
lady,  the  subject  was  one  of  absorbing  interest. 

Gradually  I  discovered  that  the  topic  of  discourse 
was  none  other  than  our  common  hostess  and  land- 
lady; and  gradually,  too,  I  found  myself  listening 
to  the  history  of  Miss  Elmira  Jamison's  career  as  a 
purveyor  of  bed  and  board  to  impecunious  and  home- 
less mortals. 

7 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Five  years  ago  Miss  Jamison  had  come  into  this 
shabby  though  eminently  respectable  neighborhood, 
and  opened  a  small  boarding-house  in  a  neighboring 
street.  She  had  come  from  some  up-State  country 
town,  and  her  bureaus  and  bedsteads  were  barely 
enough  to  furnish  the  small,  old-fashioned  house 
which  she  took  for  a  term  of  years.  Miss  Jamison 
was  a  genius — a  genius  of  the  type  peculiar  to  the 
age  in  which  we  live.  She  was  n't  the  "  slob  "  that 
she  looked.  The  epithet  is  not  mine,  but  that  of  the 
young  gentleman  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  this 
information.  No,  indeed;  Miss  Jamison  was  any- 
thing but  a  "  slob,"  as  one  soon  found  out  who  had 
occasion  to  deal  with  her  very  long.  A  shrewd,  ex- 
acting, penny-for-penny  and  dollar-for-dollar  busi- 
ness woman  was  concealed  under  the  mask  of  her 
good-natured  face  and  air  of  motherly  solicitude. 
Miss  Jamison,  at  the  very  start-out  of  her  career, 
was  inspired  to  call  her  little  "  snide  "  boarding- 
house  after  the  founder  of  the  particular  creed  pro- 
fessed by  the  congregation  of  the  neighboring 
church.  The  result  was  that  "  The  Calvin  "  imme- 
diately became  filled  with  homeless  Presbyterians,  or 
the  homeless  friends  and  acquaintances  of  Presbyte- 
rians. They  not  only  filled  her  house,  but  they  over- 
flowed, and  to  preserve  the  overflow  Miss  Jamison 
rented  the  adjoining  house. 

8 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Miss  Jamison  was  now  a  successful  boarding-house 
keeper  on  a  scale  large  enough  to  have  satisfied  the 
aspirations  of  a  less  clever  woman.  But  she  longed 
for  other  denominations  to  feed  and  house.  Of  the 
assortment  that  offered  themselves,  she  chose  the 
Methodists  next,  and  soon  had  several  nourishing 
houses  running  under  the  pious  appellation  "  Wes- 
ley," which  name,  memorialized  in  large  black  letters 
on  a  brass  sign,  soon  became  a  veritable  magnet  to 
board-seeking  Methodism. 

The  third  and  last  venture  of  the  energetic  lady, 
and  the  one  from  which  she  was  to  derive  her  largest 
percentage  of  revenue,  was  the  establishment  of  the 
place  of  which  I  had  so  recently  become  an  inmate. 
Of  all  three  of  Miss  Jamison's  boarding-houses,  this 
was  the  largest  and  withal  the  cheapest  and  most 
democratic:  in  which  characteristics  it  but  partook 
of  the  nature  of  the  particular  sort  of  church-going 
public  it  wished  to  attract,  which  was  none  other 
than  the  heterodox  element  which  flocked  in  vast 
numbers  to  All  People's  church.  The  All  People's 
edifice  was  a  big,  unsightly  brick  building.  It 
had  been  originally  designed  for  a  roller-skating 
rink. 

All  People's,  as  the  church  was  colloquially  named, 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  places  of  worship  in 
the  city.    Every  Sunday,  both  at  morning  and  even- 

9 


THE  LONG  DAY 

ing  services,  the  big  rink  was  packed  to  the  doors 
with  people  who  were  attracted  quite  as  much  by  the 
good  music  as  they  were  by  the  popular  preaching  of 
the  very  popular  divine.  A  large  percentage  of  this 
great  congregation  was  recruited  from  the  transient 
element  of  population  which  lives  in  lodgings  and 
boarding-houses.  From  its  democracy  and  lack  of 
all  ceremony,  it  was  a  church  which  appealed  par- 
ticularly to  those  who  were  without  ties  or  affilia- 
tions. Into  this  sanctuary  the  lonely  young  man 
(or  girl)  of  a  church-going  temperament  was  almost 
sure  to  drift  sooner  or  later  if  his  probationary  pe- 
riod of  strangerhood  happened  to  fall  in  this  section 
of  the  city. 

The  clever  Miss  Jamison  put  a  sign  bearing  the 
legend,  "  All  People's,"  on  each  of  the  doors  of  six 
houses,  opposite  the  church,  which  she  acquired  one 
by  one  as  her  business  increased.  The  homeless  and 
lonely  who  came  to  All  People's  for  spiritual  refresh- 
ment, or  to  gratify  their  curiosity,  remained  to 
patronize  Miss  Jamison's  "  special  Sunday  "  thirty- 
five-cent  table  d'hote,  served  in  the  basement  of  one 
house;  or  bought  a  meal-ticket  for  four  dollars, 
which  entitled  them  to  twenty-one  meals  served  in 
the  basement  of  another  of  the  houses;  or  for  the 
sum  of  five  dollars  and  upward  insured  themselves 

10 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  privilege  of  a  week's  lodging  and  three  meals  a 
day  served  in  still  another  of  the  basements. 

Such  is  the  history  of  Miss  Jamison  as  detailed 
at  the  breakfast-table  that  Sunday  morning. 

I  went  out  for  a  walk  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
wandered  about,  homesick  and  lonely.  When  I  re- 
turned dinner  was  over  and  the  dining-room  almost 
deserted,  only  a  few  remaining  to  gossip  over  their 
dessert  and  coffee.  At  my  table  all  had  gone  save 
the  young  girl  with  the  dark  eyes,  who,  I  felt  in- 
stinctively, was  a  very  nice  and  agreeable  girl.  As 
I  approached  the  table,  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the 
book  she  was  reading  and  gave  me  a  diffident  little 
bow,  when,  seeing  I  was  so  glad  to  respond  to  it,  she 
immediately  smiled  in  a  friendly  way. 

From  the  glimpse  I  had  caught  of  her  during  the 
morning  meal,  I  had  thought  her  very  pretty  in  a 
smart,  stiffly  starched,  mannish-looking  shirt-waist. 
That  night  she  looked  even  prettier,  clad  in  a  close- 
fitting  cloth  gown  of  dark  wine-color.  I  noticed, 
too,  as  I  sat  down  beside  her,  that  she  was  an  un- 
usually big  woman. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  boarding-house  by  this 
time  ?  99  she  asked,  with  an  encouraging  smile,  to 
which  I  responded  as  approvingly  as  I  could  in  the 
remembrance  of  the  cheerless  hall  bedroom  far  above, 

11 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  in  the  presence  of  the  unappetizing  dinner 
spread  before  me. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  's  rotten,  if  you  '11  excuse  my 
French,"  laughed  Miss  Plympton,  as  she  cut  a 
square  of  butter  off  the  common  dish  and  passed  it 
to  me.  "And  I  guess  you  think  so,  too,  only  you  're 
too  polite  to  roast  the  grub  like  the  rest  of  us  do. 
But  you  '11  get  over  that  in  time.  I  was  just  the 
same  way  when  I  first  begun  living  in  boarding- 
houses,  but  I  've  got  bravely  over  that  now. 

"  I 've  been  here  just  a  little  over  a  week  myself," 
she  went  on  in  her  frank  and  engaging  manner.  I 
saw  you  this  morning,  and  I  just  knew  how  you  felt. 
I  thought  I  'd  die  of  homesickness  when  I  came. 
Not  a  soul  spoke  to  me  for  four  days.  Not  that 
anybody  would  want  to  particularly  get  acquainted 
with  these  cattle,  only  I 'm  one  of  the  sort  that  has 
got  to  have  somebody  to  speak  to.  So  this  morning 
I  said  to  myself,  when  I  saw  you,  that  I  'd  put  on 
nerve  and  up  and  speak  to  you  even  if  you  did  turn 
me  down.  And  that  's  why  I  waited  for  you  to- 
night." 

I  responded  that  I  was  glad  she  had  been  so  in- 
formal; absence  of  formality  being  the  meaning  I 
interpreted  from  her  slang,  which  was  much  more 
up-to-date  and  much  more  vigorous  than  that  to 

12 


THE  LONG  DAY 


which  I  had  been  accustomed  in  the  speech  of  a  small 
country  village.  As  I  ate,  we  talked.  We  talked 
a  little  about  a  great  many  things  in  which  we  were 
not  at  all  interested,  and  a  very  great  deal  about 
ourselves  and  the  hazards  of  fortune  which  had 
brought  our  lives  together  and  crossed  them  thus  at 
Miss  Jamison's  supper-table, — subjects  into  which 
we  entered  with  all  the  zest  and  happy  egotism  of 
youth.  Of  this  egotism  I  had  the  greater  prepon- 
derance, probably  because  of  my  three  or  four  years' 
less  experience  of  life.  Before  we  rose  from  the 
table  I  had  told  Miss  Plympton  the  story  of  my  life 
as  it  had  been  lived  thus  far. 

Of  her  own  story,  all  I  knew  was  that  she  was  a 
Westerner,  that  she  had  worked  a  while  in  Chicago, 
and  had  come  to  New  York  on  a  mission  similar  to 
my  own — to  look  for  a  job.  We  went  together  to 
her  room,  which  was  as  small  and  shabby  as  my  own, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  we  were  sitting  round  the 
little  Jenny  Lind  stove,  listening  to  the  pleasant 
crackle  of  the  freshly  kindled  fire.  Both  were 
silent  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  my  new  friend 
spoke. 

"  What  does  that  put  you  in  mind  of?  "  she  asked 
slowly. 

"  You  mean  the  crackle  of  the  kindling-wood  and 
IS 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  snap  of  the  coal  as  the  flames  begin  to  lick  it?  " 
I  asked. 

"  U-m-m,  yes ;  the  crackle  of  the  wood  and  the 
snap  of  the  coal,"  said  the  girl  in  a  dreamy  tone. 

"  Home ! 99  I  cried,  quick  as  a  flash.  "  It  makes 
me  think  of  home — of  the  home  I  used  to  have," 
and  my  eyes  blurred. 

"  Here,  too !  Home ! "  she  replied  softly. 
"  Funny,  is  n't  it,  that  we  have  so  many  ideas  ex- 
actly alike?  But  I  suppose  that 's  because  we  were 
both  brought  up  in  the  country." 

"  In  the  country !  "  I  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "  I 
thought  you  were  from  Chicago." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I 'm  from  the  country.  I  did  n't  go  to 
Chicago  till  I  was  twenty.  I  lived  all  my  life  on  a 
farm  in  Iowa,  till  I  went  up  to  get  a  job  in  Chicago 
after  my  father  died  and  I  was  all  alone  in  the  world. 
We  lived  in  the  very  wildest  part  of  the  State — in 
the  part  they  call  the  fi  Big  Woods.'  Oh,  I  know 
all  about  frontier  life.  And  there 's  hardly  any  kind 
of  4  roughing  it '  that  I  have  n't  done.  I  was  born 
to  it." 

She  laughed,  opening  the  stove  door,  for  the  elbow 
of  the  pipe  was  now  red-hot  and  threatening  con- 
flagration to  the  thin  board  partition  behind,  which 
divided  the  little  room  from  that  of  the  next  lodger. 

14 


THE  LONG  DAY 

A  loud  thump  upon  the  board  partition  startled 
us.  We  listened  for  a  few  moments, — at  first  with 
alarm, — and  then  realized  that  the  noise  was  only 
the  protest  of  a  sleepy  boarder. 

Presently,  as  we  continued  to  talk,  the  banging 
of  a  shoe-heel  on  the  wall  grew  more  insistent.  We 
heard  doors  opening  along  the  hall,  and  a  high,  rau- 
cous voice  invoked  quiet  in  none  too  polite  phrase. 
So  I  said,  "  Good  night,"  in  a  whisper  and  tiptoed 
to  my  own  door. 

Thus  began  my  acquaintance  with  Minnie  Plymp- 
ton — an  acquaintance  which,  ripening  later  into  a 
warm  friendship,  was  to  have  an  incalculable  influ- 
ence upon  my  life. 


15 


II 


IN  WHICH  I  START  OUT  IN  QUEST  OF  WORK 

WHEN  I  woke  up  the  next  morning  it 
was  to  find  a  weight  of  homesickness 
lying  heavy  upon  my  heart — home- 
sickness for  something  which,  alas !  no  longer  existed 
save  in  memory.  Then  I  remembered  the  girl  on  the 
floor  below,  and  soon  I  was  dressing  with  a  light 
heart,  eager  to  hurry  down  to  breakfast.  I  was 
somewhat  disappointed  to  find  that  she  had  eaten  her 
breakfast  and  gone.  I  went  out  upon  the  stoop, 
hailed  a  newsboy,  and  sought  my  skylight  bedrooma 
It  was  with  a  hope  born  of  youth  and  inexperience 
that  I  now  gave  systematic  attention  to  "  Help 
Wanted — Female."  I  will  confess  that  at  first  I  was 
ambitious  to  do  only  what  I  chose  to  esteem  "  lady- 
like "  employment.  I  had  taught  one  winter  in  the 
village  school  back  home,  and  my  pride  and  intelli- 
gence naturally  prompted  me  to  a  desire  to  do  some- 
thing in  which  I  could  use  my  head,  my  tongue,  my 

16 


THE  LONG  DAY 


wits — anything,  in  fact,  rather  than  my  hands.  The 
advertisements  I  answered  all  held  out  inducements 
of  genteel  or  semi-genteel  nature — ladies'  compan- 
ions ;  young  women  to  read  aloud  to  blind  gen- 
tlemen and  to  invalids;  assistants  in  doctors'  and 
dentists'  offices,  and  for  the  reception-room  of  photo- 
graph galleries.  All  of  them  requested  answers  in 
"  own  handwriting,  by  mail  only."  I  replied  to 
scores  of  such  with  no  success. 

There  was  also  another  kind  of  illusive  advertise- 
ment which  I  answered  in  prodigal  numbers  in  the 
greenness  of  these  early  days.  These  were  those  de- 
ceitfully worded  requests  for  "  bright,  intelligent 
ladies — no  canvassing."  And  not  less  prodigal  were 
the  returns  I  got.  They  came  in  avalanches  by 
every  mail,  from  patent-medicine  concerns,  subscrip- 
tion-book publishers,  novelty  manufacturers — all  in 
search  of  canvassers  to  peddle  their  trash. 

1  might  have  saved  much  superfluous  effort,  and 
saved  myself  many  postage-stamps,  had  I  been  for- 
tunate enough  to  have  had  the  advice  of  Miss  Plymp- 
ton  throughout  this  first  week.  But  Miss  Plympton 
had  gone  away  for  several  days.  I  had  not  seen  her 
since  we  had  parted  on  Sunday  night ;  but  Monday 
evening,  when  I  went  to  the  table,  I  found  a  hasty 

note  saying  she  had  gone  out  of  town  to  see  about 

2  17 


THE  LONG  DAY 


a  job,  and  would  see  me  later.  That  was  all.  I 
found  myself  longing  for  her  more  and  more  as  the 
week  wore  away. 

Meanwhile,  however,  I  did  not  allow  the  sentiment 
of  an  interrupted  acquaintance  to  interfere  with 
my  quest  for  a  job,  nor  did  I  sit  idle  in  Miss  Jami- 
son's boarding-house  waiting  for  replies.  I  had 
only  a  few  dollars  in  the  world,  and  on  the  other  side 
of  those  few  dollars  I  saw  starvation  staring  me  in 
the  face  unless  I  found  work  very  soon.  I  planned 
my  search  for  work  as  systematically  as  I  might 
have  conducted  a  house-cleaning.  As  soon  as  each 
day's  grist  of  "  wants  "  was  sifted  and  a  certain 
quota  disposed  of  by  letter,  I  set  out  to  make  per- 
sonal applications  to  such  as  required  it.  This  I 
found  to  be  an  even  more  discouraging  business  than 
the  epistolary  process,  as  it  was  bitterly  cold  and  the 
streets  were  filled  with  slush  and  snow.  The  dis- 
tances were  interminable,  and  each  day  found  my 
little  hoard  dwindling  away  with  frightful  rapidity 
into  innumerable  car-fares  and  frequent  cups  of 
coffee  at  wayside  lunch-counters.  I  traveled  over 
miles  and  miles  of  territory,  by  trolley-car,  by  ele- 
vated train  and  ferry-boat,  to  Brooklyn,  to  Harlem, 
to  Jersey  City  and  Newark,  only  to  reach  my  des- 
tination cold  and  hungry,  and  to  be  interviewed  by 

18 


THE  LONG  DAY 


a  seedy  man  with  a  patent  stove-lifter,  a  shirt-waist 
belt,  a  contrivance  for  holding  up  a  lady's  train,  or 
a  new-fangled  mop — anything,  everything  that  a 
persistent  agent  might  sell  to  the  spendthrift  wife 
of  an  American  workingman. 

By  the  end  of  the  week  I  was  obliged  to  hunt  for 
another  boarding-house  as  well  as  continue  the 
search  for  work.  My  little  bedroom  under  the  sky- 
light, and  three  meals  per  day  of  none  too  plentiful 
and  wretchedly  cooked  food,  required  the  deposit  of 
five  dollars  a  week  in  advance.  With  but  a  few  dol- 
lars left  in  my  purse,  and  the  prospect  of  work  still 
far  off,  nothing  in  the  world  seemed  so  desirable  as 
that  I  might  be  able  to  pass  the  remainder  of  my 
days  in  Miss  Jamison's  house,  and  that  I  might  be 
able  to  breakfast  indefinitely  in  her  dark  basement 
dining-room. 

Sunday  morning  came  around  again.  I  had  been 
a  week  in  the  city,  and  was  apparently  no  nearer  to 
earning  a  livelihood  than  the  day  I  started  out.  I 
had  gained  a  little  experience,  but  it  had  been  at  the 
cost  of  nearly  five  precious  dollars,  all  spent  in 
street-car  fare  and  postage-stamps ;  of  miles  and 
miles  of  walking  through  muddy,  slushy  streets ;  and 
at  the  sacrifice  of  my  noon  lunch,  which  I  could  have 
had  done  up  for  me  at  the  boarding-house  without 

19 


THE  LONG  DAY 


extra  charge,  but  which  my  silly  vanity  did  not  al- 
low me  to  carry  around  under  my  arm. 

Sunday  morning  again,  and  still  no  Miss  Plymp- 
ton.  She  was  under  discussion  when  I  reached  the 
breakfast-table.  The  lady  with  the  cataract  and  her 
friend  were  speaking  of  how  well  she  always  dressed, 
and  one  of  them  wondered  how  she  managed  to  do  it, 
since  she  had  no  visible  means  of  support.  Dr.  Per- 
kins did  n't  seem  to  relish  the  turn  the  conversation 
had  taken,  and  suddenly  he  fell  completely  out  of  it. 
But  the  gossips  clacked  on  regardless,  until  they 
were  brought  to  a  standstill  by  a  peremptory  excla- 
mation from  the  end  of  the  table. 

"  Excuse  me,"  spoke  up  the  doctor,  dryly,  "  but 
I  '11  have  to  ask  you  to  change  the  subject.  You 
are  talking  about  a  young  lady  of  whom  you  know 
absolutely  nothing !  " 

The  scandal-mongers  finished  breakfast  in  silence 
and  soon  shuffled  away  in  their  bedroom  slippers. 

"  Old  cats ! "  said  the  doctor,  energetically. 
"  Boarding-house  life  breeds  them.  A  boarding- 
house  is  no  place  for  anybody.  It  perverts  all  the 
natural  instincts,  mental,  moral,  and  physical. 
You 'd  hardly  believe  it,  but  I 've  lived  in  boarding- 
houses  so  long  that  I  can't  digest  really  wholesome 
food  any  more." 

20 


THE  LONG  DAY 


When  at  last  we  rose  to  go,  he  handed  me  a  card 
upon  which  I  later  read  this  astonishing  inscription 
in  heavy  black  type :  "  Painless  Perkins  " ;  and, 
in  smaller  type  underneath,  the  information  that  the 
extracting  or  filling  of  molars;  crown  and  bridge 
work ;  or  the  fitting  of  artificial  teeth,  would  be  done 
by  Painless  Perkins  in  a  "  Particularly  Pleasing 
Way,"  and  that  he  was  44  Predisposed  to  Popular 
Prices." 

With  no  books  to  read,  and  no  advertisements  to 
answer,  and  no  friend  with  whom  to  gossip,  the  day 
stretched  before  me  a  weary,  dreary  waste,  when  I 
happened  to  think  of  the  church  across  the  way, 
something  of  the  history  of  which  I  had  heard  from 
Painless  Perkins.  And  so  I  joined  the  crowd  of 
strangers  who  were  pouring  into  the  doors  of  44  All 
People's  "  to  the  music  of  a  sweet-toned  bell. 

I  was  there  early,  but  the  auditorium  was  packed, 
and  I  was  ushered  to  a  camp-chair  in  the  aisle.  The 
crowd  was  not  suggestive  of  fashionable  New  York, 
though  there  were  present  many  fine-looking,  well- 
groomed  men  and  women.  But  nearly  everybody 
was  neatly  and  decently  if  not  well  dressed.  Many 
of  the  faces  looked  as  sad  and  lonely  as  I  felt.  They 
appeared  to  be  strangers — homeless  wanderers  who 
had  come  here  to  church  not  so  much  for  worship 

21 


THE  LONG  DAY 


as  to  come  in  touch  with  human  beings.  I  was  too 
tired,  too  discouraged  even  to  hear  what  the  earnest- 
voiced  preacher  said.  The  two  girls  sitting  directly 
in  front  of  me  listened  intently,  as  they  passed  a 
little  bag  of  peppermints  back  and  forth,  and  I 
envied  them  the  friendship  which  that  furtive  bag 
of  peppermints  betokened.  If  I  had  had  any  pros- 
pect of  getting  a  job  the  following  week,  I  too  could 
have  listened  to  the  preacher.  As  it  was,  my  ears 
were  attuned  only  to  the  terrifying  refrain  which 
had  haunted  me  all  week :  "  Work  or  Starve, 
Work  or  Starve  !  "  After  a  while  I  tried  to  rouse 
myself  and  to  take  in  the  sermon  which  was  holding 
the  great  congregation  breathless.  It  was  about  the 
Good  Samaritan.  I  heard  a  few  sentences.  Then 
the  preacher's  voice  was  lost  once  more  in  that  in- 
sistent refrain. 

Dinner  at  noon  and  supper  in  the  evening  in  the 
dark  house  across  the  street,  and  still  my  friend  was 
absent.  The  scandal-mongers  were  as  busy  as  ever, 
for  Painless  Perkins  was  away. 

Monday  morning  I  made  my  way  eastward  on 
foot,  across  Union  Square.  The  snow  had  been  fall- 
ing all  night  and  was  still  sifting  down  in  big,  flow- 
ery flakes.  The  trees  under  their  soft,  feathery  bur- 
dens looked  like  those  that  grow  only  in  a  child's 

22 


THE  LONG  DAY 


picture-book.  The  slat-benches  were  covered  with 
soft  white  blankets  that  were  as  yet  undisturbed,  for 
the  habitual  bench  tramp  was  not  abroad  so  early  in 
the  morning. 

I  was  up  extraordinarily  early,  as  I  started  out 
on  a  double  search.  The  first  item  on  my  list — 
"  Board  and  room,  good  neighborhood,  $3.00  " — 
took  me  south  across  Fourteenth  Street,  choked  and 
congested  with  the  morning  traffic.  The  pavements 
were  filled  with  hurrying  crowds — factory-hands, 
mill-girls,  mechanics — the  vanguard  of  the  great 
labor  army.  I  hunted  for  Mrs.  McGinniss's  resi- 
dence in  a  street  which  pays  little  attention  to  the 
formality  of  numbers.  An  interview  with  a  milk- 
cart  driver  brought  the  discouraging  news  that  I 
might  find  it  somewhere  between  First  and  Second 
avenues,  and  I  hurried  on  down  the  street,  which 
stretched  away  and  dipped  in  the  far  distance  under 
the  framework  of  the  elevated  railroad.  The  stoop- 
line  on  either  side  presented  an  interminable  vista  of 
small,  squalid  shops,  meat-markets,  and  saloons. 

Wedged  between  a  paper-box  factory  and  a  black- 
smith's shop  I  found  Mrs.  McGinniss's  number.  It 
was  a  five-story  red-brick  tenement,  like  all  the  others 
that  rise  above  the  stoop-line  of  this  poverty-stricken 
street.    A  soiled  scrap  of  paper  pasted  beneath  the 

23 


THE  LONG  DAY 


button  informed  possible  visitors  that  Mrs.  McGin- 
niss  lived  on  the  fifth  floor,  that  her  bell  was  out  of 
order,  and  that  one  should  "  Push  Guggenheim's." 

The  Guggenheims  responded  with  a  click  from 
above.  I  ascended  a  flight  of  dark  stairs,  at  the  top 
of  which  there  was  ranged  an  ambuscade  of  numer- 
ous small  Guggenheims  who  had  gushed  out  in  their 
underdrawers  and  petticoats.  Their  mother,  in  curl- 
papers, gave  explicit  directions  for  my  guidance 
upward. 

"  Is  this  where  Mrs.  McGinniss  lives  ?  "  I  inquired 
of  the  dropsical  slattern  who  responded  to  my  rap. 
"  I  'm  her." 

Mrs.  McGinniss's  manner  was  aggressive.  Con- 
scious of  her  bare,  sodden  arms  and  dripping  ging- 
ham apron,  she  evidently  supposed  I  had  mistaken 
her  for  a  laundress  instead  of  the  lady  of  her  own 
house,  and  she  showed  her  resentment  by  chilly  reti- 
cence. 

"  I  don't  run  no  boarding-house,  and  I  don't  take 
just  any  trash  that  come  along,  either." 

I  agreed  that  these  were  excellent  qualities  in  a 
landlady,  and  then,  somewhat  mollified,  she  led  the 
way  through  a  steam}'  passage  into  a  stuffy  bed- 
room. It  had  one  window,  looking  out  into  an  air- 
shaft  filled  with  lines  of  fluttering  garments  and  a 

24 


THE  LONG  DAY 


network  of  fire-escapes.  A  slat-bed,  a  bureau,  a 
washstand  with  a  noseless  pitcher,  and  a  much- 
spotted  Brussels  carpet  completed  the  furnishings, 
and  out  of  all  exuded  ancient  odors  of  boiled  cab- 
bage and  soap-suds. 

"  There  's  one  thing,  though,  I  won't  stand  for, 
and  that 's  cigarettes.  I 've  had  the  last  girl  in  my 
house  that  smokes  cigarettes  I  'm  going  to  have. 
Look  at  that  nice  carpet !  Look  at  it !  All  burned 
full  of  holes  where  that  trollop  throwed  her 
matches." 

I  hurried  away,  with  a  polite  promise  to  consider 
the  McGinniss  accommodations. 

The  abode  of  Mrs.  Cunningham  was  but  a  few 
blocks  away.  Mrs.  Cunningham  did  not  live  in  a 
flat,  but  in  the  comparative  gentility  of  "  up-stairs 
rooms "  over  a  gaudy  undertaking  establishment. 
She  proved  to  be  an  Irish  lady  with  a  gin-laden 
breath.  Her  eyes  were  blue  and  bleared,  and  looked 
in  kindly  fashion  through  a  pair  of  large-rimmed 
and  much-mended  spectacles,  from  which  one  of  the 
glasses  had  totally  disappeared.  She  was  affable, 
and  responded  to  my  questions  with  almost  maudlin 
tenderness,  calling  me  "  dearie  99  throughout  the  in- 
terview. Her  little  parlor  was  hung  with  chromo 
reproductions  of  great  religious  paintings,  and  the 

25 


THE  LONG  DAY 

close  atmosphere  was  redolent  of  the  heavy  perfume 
of  lilies  and  stale  tuberoses.  Remarking  the  unusual 
prodigality  of  flowers,  the  good  lady  explained  that 
the  undertaker  beneath  was  in  the  habit  of  showing 
his  esteem  by  the  daily  tender  of  such  funeral  dec- 
orations as  had  served  their  purpose.  Mrs.  Cunning- 
ham's accommodations  at  four  dollars  per  week  were 
beyond  my  purse,  however;  but,  as  she  was  willing 
to  talk  all  day,  my  exit  was  made  with  difficulty. 

The  remainder  of  that  day  and  a  good  part  of  the 
days  that  followed  were  spent  in  interviewing  all 
manner  of  landladies,  most  of  whom,  like  Mrs.  Mc- 
Ginniss's  bell,  were  disordered  physically  or  men- 
tally. Heartsick,  I  decided  by  Saturday  to  take 
blind  chances  with  the  janitress  of  a  Fourteenth- 
street  lodging-house.  She  had  a  cleft  palate,  and 
all  I  could  understand  of  her  mutilated  talk  was  that 
the  room  would  be  one  dollar  a  week  with  "  light- 
housekeeping  "  privileges  thrown  in.  I  had  either  to 
pay  Miss  Jamison  another  five  dollars  that  next  morn- 
ing or  take  chances  here.  I  took  the  hazard,  paid  the 
necessary  one  dollar  to  the  more  or  less  inarticulate 
woman,  and  went  back  to  Miss  Jamison's  to  get  my 
baggage  and  to  eat  the  one  dinner  that  was  still  due 
me — not  forgetting  to  leave  a  little  note  for  the  still 
absent  Minnie  Plympton,  giving  her  my  new  address. 

26 


III 


I  TRY       LIGHT       HOUSEKEEPING  IN  A  FOURTEENTH- 
STREET  LODGING-HOUSE 

BEDTIME  found  me  thoroughly  settled  in 
my  new  quarters,  and  myself  in  quite  an 
optimistic  frame  of  mind  as  I  drew  close 
to  the  most  fearfully  and  wonderfully  mutilated  lit- 
tle cook-stove  that  ever  cheered  the  heart  of  a  lonely 
Fourteenth-street  "  light  housekeeper."  In  the  red- 
hot  glow  of  its  presence,  and  with  the  inspiring  ex- 
ample of  courage  and  fortitude  which  it  presented, 
how  could  I  have  felt  otherwise  than  optimistic? 
It  was  such  a  tiny  mite  of  a  stove,  and  it  seemed 
to  have  had  such  a  world  of  misfortune  and  bad 
luck!  There  was  something  whimsically,  almost 
pathetically,  human  about  it.  This,  it  so  pleased 
my  fancy  to  believe,  was  because  of  the  sufferings 
it  had  borne.  Its  little  body  cracked  and  warped 
and  rust-eaten,  the  isinglass  lights  in  its  door  long 
since  punched  out  by  the  ruthless  poker,  the  door 
itself  swung  to  on  the  broken  hinge  by  a  twisted 


THE  LONG  DAY 


nail — a  brave,  bright,  merry  little  cripple  of  a  stove, 
standing  on  short  wooden  legs.  I  made  the  interest- 
ing discovery  that  it  was  a  stove  of  the  feminine  per- 
suasion ;  "  Little  Lottie 99  was  the  name  which  I 
spelled  out  in  the  broken  letters  that  it  wore  across 
its  glowing  heart.  And  straightway  Little  Lottie 
became  more  human  than  ever — poor  Little  Lottie, 
the  one  solitary  bright  and  cheerful  object  within 
these  four  smoke-grimed  walls  which  I  had  elected 
to  make  my  home. 

Home !  The  tears  started  at  the  mere  recollection 
of  the  word.  The  firelight  that  flickered  through  the 
broken  door  showed  an  ironical  contrast  between  the 
home  that  now  was  and  that  which  once  had  been, 
and  to  which  I  looked  back  with  such  loving  thoughts 
that  night.  A  narrow  wooden  bedstead,  as  battered 
and  crippled  as  Little  Lottie,  but  without  the  lat- 
tcr's  air  of  sympathy  and  companionship;  a  tremu- 
lous kitchen  table;  a  long  box  set  on  end  and  cur- 
tained off  with  a  bit  of  faded  calico,  a  single  chair 
with  a  mended  leg — these  rude  conveniences  com- 
prised my  total  list  of  housekeeping  effects,  not  for- 
getting, of  course,  the  dish-pan,  the  stubby  broom, 
and  the  coal-scuttle,  along  with  the  scanty  assort- 
ment of  thick,  chipped  dishes  and  the  pots  and  pans 
on  the  shelf  behind  the  calico  curtain.    There  was  no 

28 


THE  LONG  DAY 

bureau,  only  a  waved  bit  of  looking-glass  over  the 
sink  in  the  corner.  My  wardrobe  was  strung  along 
the  row  of  nails  behind  the  door,  a  modest  array  of 
petticoats  and  skirts  and  shirt-waists,  with  a  winter 
coat  and  a  felt  sailor-hat.  Beneath  them,  set  at 
right  angles  to  the  corner,  was  the  little  old-fash- 
ioned swell-top  trunk,  which  precaution  prompted 
me  to  drag  before  the  door.  It  had  been  my  mo- 
ther's trunk,  and  this  was  the  first  journey  it  had 
made  since  it  carried  her  bridal  finery  to  and  from 
the  Philadelphia  Centennial.  In  the  quiet,  unevent- 
ful years  that  followed  it  had  reposed  in  a  big, 
roomy  old  garret,  undisturbed  save  at  the  annual 
spring  house-cleaning,  or  when  we  children  played 
"  The  Mistletoe  Bough  99  and  hid  in  it  the  skeleton 
which  had  descended  to  us  as  a  relic  of  our  grand- 
father's student  days. 

What  a  change  for  the  little  old  trunk  and  what  a 
change  for  me  the  last  twelve  months  had  brought 
about !  After  the  door  had  been  further  barricaded 
by  piling  the  chair  on  top  of  the  trunk,  and  the  coal- 
scuttle on  top  of  the  chair,  I  blew  out  the  evil-smell- 
ing lamp  and  crept  with  fear  and  trembling  into  a 
most  inhospitable-looking  bed.  It  received  my  slight 
weight  with  a  groan,  and  creaked  dismally  every 
time  I  stirred.    Through  the  thin  mattress  I  could 

29 


THE  LONG  DAY 


feel  the  slats,  that  seemed  hard  bands  of  pain  across 
my  tired  body. 

From  where  I  was  lying  I  could  look  straight  into 
Little  Lottie's  heart,  now  a  steady,  glowing  mass 
of  coals.  Little  Lottie  invited  me  to  retrospection. 
How  different  it  all  was  in  reality  from  what  I  had 
imagined  it  would  be!  In  the  story-books  it  is  al- 
ways so  alluring — this  coming  to  a  great  city  to 
seek  one's  fortune.  A  year  ago  I  had  been  teach- 
ing in  a  little  school-house  among  my  Pennsylvania 
hills,  and  I  recalled  now,  very  vividly,  how  I  used 
to  love,  on  just  such  cold  winter  nights  as  this,  when 
the  wind  whistled  at  every  keyhole  of  the  farm-house 
where  I  boarded  during  the  school  year,  to  pull  my 
rocking-chair  into  the  chimney-corner  and  read 
magazine  stories  about  girls  who  lived  in  hall  bed- 
rooms on  little  or  nothing  a  week ;  and  of  what  good 
times  they  had,  or  seemed  to  have,  with  never  being 
quite  certain  where  the  next  meal  was  to  come  from, 
or  whether  it  was  to  come  at  all. 

I  was  wakened  by  the  rattle  of  dishes,  the  clatter 
of  pots  and  pans,  and  the  rancid  odor  of  frying 
bacon,  bespeaking  the  fact  that  somebody's  break- 
fast was  under  way  in  the  next  room  to  mine.  I 
stepped  across  the  bare,  cold  floor  to  the  window, 

30 


THE  LONG  DAY 

and,  rolling  up  the  sagging  black-muslin  blind, 
looked  out  upon  the  world.  Bleak  and  unbeautiful 
was  the  prospect  that  presented  itself  through  the 
interstices  of  the  spiral  fire-escape — a  narrow  vista 
strung  with  clothes-lines  and  buttressed  all  about 
with  the  rear  walls  of  high,  gaunt,  tottering  tene- 
ments, the  dirty  windows  of  which  were  filled  with 
frowzy -headed  women  and  children.  Something  in- 
teresting was  going  on  below,  for  in  a  moment  every 
window  was  thrown  up,  and  a  score  of  heads  leaned 
far  out.    I  followed  suit. 

In  the  sloppy,  slush-filled  courtyard  below  two 
untidy  women  were  engaged  in  coarse  vituperation 
that  shortly  led  to  blows.  The  window  next  to  mine 
was  quickly  raised,  and  I  drew  back  to  escape  being 
included  in  the  category  of  curious  spectators  to  this 
disgraceful  scene — but  too  late. 

"  What 's  the  row?  99  a  voice  asked  with  friendly 
familiarity.  It  was  the  girl  who  had  been  frying 
the  bacon,  and  she  still  held  a  greasy  knife  in  her 
hand.  I  answered  that  I  did  not  know.  She  was 
very  young,  hardly  more  than  sixteen.  She  had  a 
coarse,  bold,  stupid  face,  topped  by  a  heavy  black 
pompadour  that  completely  concealed  any  forehead 
she  might  be  supposed  to  possess.  She  was  decidedly 
an  ill-looking  girl ;  but  the  young  fellow  in  his  shirt- 

31 


THE  LONG  DAY 


sleeves  who  now  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  window 
alongside  of  hers  was  infinitely  more  so.  He  had  a 
weak  face,  covered  with  pimples,  and  the  bridge  of 
his  nose  was  broken;  but,  despite  these  manifest 
facial  defects,  and  notwithstanding  the  squalor  of 
his  surroundings,  a  very  high  collar  and  a  red  necktie 
gave  him  the  unmistakable  air  of  the  cheap  dandy. 
Again  I  gave  a  civil  evasion  to  the  girl's  trivial  ques- 
tion, and  as  I  did  so  her  companion,  looking  over  her 
frowzy  pompadour,  stared  at  me  with  insolent  fa- 
miliarity. I  jerked  my  head  in  hurriedly,  and,  shut- 
ting the  window,  turned  my  attention  to  Little  Lot- 
tie. It  was  not  long  before  my  tea-kettle  was  sing- 
ing merrily.  I  was  about  to  sit  down  to  the  first 
meal  in  my  new  abode,  when  an  insinuating  rat-tat 
sounded  on  the  door.  I  opened  it  to  find  the  ill-look- 
ing young  fellow  leaning  languidly  against  the 
door-jamb,  a  cigarette  between  his  teeth. 

"  What  do  you  wish?  "  I  asked,  in  my  most  mat- 
ter-of-fact manner. 

He  puffed  some  smoke  in  my  face,  then  took  the 
cigarette  from  his  mouth  and  looked  at  me,  evi- 
dently at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 

"  The  girl  in  there  wants  to  know  if  you  '11  loan 
her  one  of  your  plates,"  he  replied  at  last. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  I  said,  with  freezing  politeness — 
32 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  only  one  plate,  and 
I  '11  need  that  myself,"  and  I  closed  the  door. 

After  breakfast  I  walked  up  to  First  Avenue  to 
lay  in  my  provisions  for  the  day — a  loaf  of  bread, 
a  quart  of  potatoes,  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  butter, 
and  two  cents'  worth  of  milk.  Never  in  my  life  be- 
fore had  I  bought  anything  on  the  Sabbath  day, 
and  never  before  had  I  seen  a  place  of  business  open 
for  trade  on  that  day.  My  people  had  not  been 
sternly  religious  people,  and,  theoretically,  I  did  n't 
think  I  was  doing  anything  wicked;  yet  I  felt,  as 
I  gave  my  order  to  the  groceryman,  as  though  I 
were  violating  every  sacred  tradition  of  birth  and 
breeding.  After  that  I  tried  to  do  all  necessary 
marketing  the  day  before,  and  if  I  needed  anything 
on  Sunday  I  made  myself  go  without  it. 

Returning  with  my  unholy  provisions  tucked  un- 
der my  arm  and  a  broken-nosed  blue  pitcher  deftly 
concealed  under  my  protecting  cape,  I  made  my 
first  daylight  inventory  of  that  block  of  Fourteenth 
Street  where  I  lived.  On  each  corner  stood  a  gaudy 
saloon,  surmounted  by  a  Raines  law  hotel.  It  seemed 
to  have  been  at  one  time  the  abode  of  fashion,  for 
though  both  ends  of  the  block  were  supported  by 
business  buildings,  the  entire  middle  presented  a 
solid  front  of  brownstone,  broken  at  intervals  by 

3  33 


THE  LONG  DAY 


long  flights  of  steps  leading  to  handsome,  though 
long-neglected  black-walnut  doors.  The  basements 
were  given  over  to  trade. 

On  the  stairs  I  was  brought  face  to  face  again 
with  my  sinister-looking  young  man.  I  looked 
straight  ahead,  so  as  to  avoid  his  eyes.  But  I  found 
the  way  blocked,  as  he  stretched  his  arms  from  ban- 
ister to  wall. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  he  began  coax- 
ingly.  "  Say,  I  '11  take  you  to  the  theater,  if  you 
want  to  go.  What  do  you  say  to  6  The  Jolly  Grass 
Widows  '  to-morrow  night?  99 

Thoroughly  frightened,  I  responded  to  the  un- 
warranted invitation  by  retreating  two  steps  down 
the  stairs,  whereupon  the  young  ruffian  jumped  down 
and  grasped  the  arm  in  which  I  held  my  packages. 
I  don't  know  what  nerved  me  up  to  such  a  heroic 
defense,  but  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  fell 
sprawling  down  the  stairs,  followed  by  the  flying 
remnants  of  my  landlady's  milk-pitcher.  Then  I 
ran  up  the  remaining  two  flights  as  fast  as  my  feet 
would  carry  me,  and  landed  in  the  midst  of  an  alter- 
cation between  the  inarticulate  landlady  and  my  girl 
neighbor.  In  passing,  I  could  make  out  enough  of 
the  wrangle  to  understand  that  the  latter  was  being 
ordered  out  of  the  house. 

34 


THE  LONG  DAY 


When  quietness  had  been  restored,  there  was  a  tap 
at  my  door.  I  demanded  the  name  of  my  visitor  in 
as  brave  a  voice  as  I  could  command.  "  Mrs.  Prin- 
gle,"  returned  the  broken  voice  of  the  landlady. 
I  saw,  when  I  opened  the  door,  that  she  wanted  to 
talk  to  me.  I  also  saw,  what  I  had  not  noticed  in 
my  hasty  interview  the  night  before,  that  she  was 
superior  to  most  of  the  women  of  her  class.  She 
had  been  grimy  and  unkempt  the  night  before,  after 
her  long  week's  work  of  sweeping  and  cleaning  and 
coal-carrying ;  but  to-day,  in  her  clean  wrapper  and 
smooth  gray  hair,  there  was  a  pathetic  Sabbath-day 
air  of  cleanliness  about  her  spare,  bent  figure. 
Somehow,  I  felt  that  she  would  not  be  so  very  angry 
when  I  explained  about  the  pitcher,  and  I  invited 
her  in  with  genuine  cordiality. 

She  listened  in  silence  to  my  story,  her  knotted 
hands  folded  upon  her  starched  gingham  apron. 

"  That 's  all  right !  "  she  replied,  a  smile  lighting 
up  her  tired  face.  "  I  'm  just  glad  you  broke  the 
pitcher  over  that  vile  fellow's  head." 

"  You  know  him,  then?  "  I  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  don't  know  him,  but 
I  know  the  bad  lot  he  belongs  to.  I 've  just  warned 
this  girl  in  here  to  leave  as  soon  as  she  can  pack  her 
things.    I  gave  her  back  her  rent-money.    She  only 

35 


THE  LONG  DAY 


come  day  afore  yesterday,  and  I  supposed  she  was 
an  honest  working-girl  or  I  'd  never  have  took  her. 
She  pretended  to  me  she  was  a  skirt-hand,  and  it 
turns  out  she 's  nothin'  but  a  common  trollop.  And 
I  hated  to  turn  her  out,  too,  even  if  she  did  talk  back 
to  me  something  awful.  She  can't  be  more  'n  six- 
teen ;  but,  somehow  or  t'  other,  when  a  girl  like  that 
goes  to  be  bad,  there  ain't  no  use  trying  to  reason 
'em  out  of  it.  You  come  from  the  country,  don't 
you  ?  " 

There  was  a  kindly  curiosity  mirrored  in  the  dim, 
sunken  eyes  which  surveyed  me  steadily,  a  lingering 
accent  of  repressed  tenderness  in  her  voice,  and  I 
did  not  deem  it  beneath  my  dignity  to  tell  this  de- 
cent, motherly  soul  my  little  story. 

She  listened  attentively.  "  I  knowed  you  were 
a  well-brought-up  young  woman  the  moment  I  laid 
eyes  on  you,"  she  began,  the  maimed  words  falling 
gently  from  her  lips,  despite  the  high,  cracked  voice 
in  which  they  were  spoken.  "  And  I  knowed  you 
was  from  the  country,  too;  so  I  did.  You  don't 
mind,  honey,  do  you,  if  I  speak  sort  of  plain  with 
you,  being  as  I 'm  an  old  woman  and  you  just  a  slip 
of  a  girl  ?    Do  you,  now  ?  " 

I  replied  that  she  might  speak  just  as  plainly  as 
she  liked  with  me  and  I  would  take  no  offense,  and 

36 


THE  LONG  DAY 


then  she  smiled  approvingly  upon  me  and  drew  her 
little  checked  breakfast-shawl  closer  about  her 
sunken  bosom. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  went  on,  "  be- 
cause so  many  girls  won't  listen  to  a  word  of  advice 
— least  of  all  when  it  comes  from  an  old  woman  that 
they  thinks  don't  know  as  much  as  they  does.  They 
don't  relish  being  told  how  careful  they  ought  to  be 
about  the  people  they  get  acquainted  with.  Now 
I  'm  talking  to  you  just  as  if  you  was  one  of  my 
own.  You  may  think  you  are  wise,  and  all  that, — 
and  you  are  a  bright  sort  of  girl,  I  '11  give  you 
credit  for  that,  only  this  is  such  a  wicked  city.  A 
young  girl  like  you,  with  no  folks  of  her  own  to  go 
to  when  she  's  discouraged  and  blue,  '11  find  plenty 
and  to  spare  that  '11  be  willing  to  lead  her  off.  This 
is  a  bad  neighborhood  you  're  in,  and  you  got  to  be 
mighty  careful  about  yourself.  Forewarned  is  fore- 
armed, as  you 've  heard  tell  before ;  and  I  have  saw 
so  many  young  girls  go  wrong  that  I  felt  could  have 
been  saved  if  somebody  had  just  up  and  talked 
straight  at  them  in  the  beginning,  like  I 'm  talking 
here  to  you.  I  had  a  girl  here  in  this  house  two  years 
agone.  A  pretty  girl  she  was,  and  she  was  from  the 
country  too.  Somewheres  up  in  Connecticut  she 
come  from.    She  was  a  nice,  innocent  girl  too,  so 

37 


THE  LONG  DAY 

she  was,  when  she  come  here  to  rent  a  room.  This 
very  room  you  've  got  was  the  one  she  had.  Just 
as  quiet  and  modest  and  respectful  spoken  to  her 
elders  as  you  are,  she  was.  She  worked  down  in  St. 
Mark's  Place.  She  was  a  cap-maker  and  got  four 
dollars  a  week.  She  started  out  to  live  honest,  for 
she 'd  been  brought  up  decent.  Her  father,  she  told 
me  when  she  come  here,  was  a  blacksmith  in  some  of 
them  little  country  towns  up  there.  She  thought 
she  could  make  lots  of  money  to  come  down  here  to 
work,  and  that  she  could  have  a  fine  time;  and  I 
guess  she  was  terrible  disappointed  when  she  found 
just  how  things  really  was.  She  hankered  for  fine 
clothes  and  to  go  to  theaters,  and  there  was  n't  any 
chanst  for  neither  on  four  dollars  a  week.  By  and  by, 
though,  she  did  get  to  going  out  some  with  a  young 
fellow  that  worked  where  she  did.  He  was  a  nice, 
decent  young  fellow,  and  I  '11  warrant  you  she  could 
have  married  him  if  she  had  acted  wise  and  sensible ; 
and  he 'd  like  as  not  have  made  her  a  good  provider. 
I  don't  blame  the  men  out  and  out,  as  some  folks 
do;  and  I  say  that  when  a  young  fellow  sees  that  a 
girl  '11  let  him  act  free  with  her,  he  just  says  to 
himself  she  '11  let  other  fellows  act  free  with  her,  and 
then  he  don't  want  to  marry  her,  no  difference  how 
much  he  might  have  thought  of  her  to  begin  with. 

38 


THE  LONG  DAY 


That 's  what,  I  think,  started  this  girl  going  wrong. 
At  first  he 'd  just  bring  her  to  the  door  when  they 'd 
be  out  to  the  theater,  but  by  and  by  she  got  to  tak- 
ing him  up  to  her  room.  Now  it 's  none  of  my  busi- 
ness to  interfere  with  people's  comings  and  goings 
in  this  house,  being  as  I  'm  only  the  janitress.  I 
have  my  orders  from  the  boss — who  's  a  real  nice 
sort  of  man — to  only  rent  rooms  to  respectable  peo- 
ple, and  to  put  anybody  out  where  I  knows  there 's 
bad  conduct  going  on.  He 's  strong  on  morals,  the 
boss  is.  He  used  to  be  a  saloon-keeper,  and  the  Sal- 
vation Army  converted  him;  and  then  he  sold  out 
and  went  into  this  business.  He  has  this  place,  and 
then  he  has  a  boarding-house  on  Second  Avenue. 
These  Germans  are  awful  kind  men,  when  they  are 
kind,  and  Mr.  Schneider  has  did  a  lot  of  good.  If 
any  of  his  tenants  get  sick  and  can't  pay  their  rent, 
or  if  they  get  out  of  work,  he  don't  bounce  them  into 
the  street,  but  he  just  tells  them  to  stay  on  and  pay 
him  when  they  get  caught  up;  and  would  you  be- 
lieve it  that  he  never  loses  a  cent,  either !  " 

Here  the  woman  stopped  for  breath,  which  gave 
me  an  opportunity  to  turn  the  channel  of  her  talk 
back  to  the  girl  from  Connecticut. 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  have  no  right  to  tell  the  girl 
that  she  must  n't  take  her  gentleman  friend  to  her 

39 


THE  LONG  DAY 


room,  because  there  ain't  no  law  again  it  in  any 
light-housekeeping  rooms.  The  people  who  live  here 
are  all  working-people  and  earn  their  livings;  and 
they 've  got  a  right  to  do  as  they  please  so  they  're 
quiet  and  respectable.  But  I  took  it  on  myself  to 
kind  of  let  the  girl  understand  that  her  beau  would 
think  more  of  her  if  she  just  dropped  him  at  the 
front  door.  A  man  '11  always  pick  a  spunky,  inde- 
pendent girl  that  sort  of  keeps  him  at  a  stand-off 
every  time,  anyway.  She  looked  sort  of  miffed 
when  I  said  this,  and  then  I  said  that  she  could  set 
up  with  him  any  time  she  wanted  in  my  sitting- 
room  in  the  basement,  what  is  real  comfortable  fur- 
nished and  pretty-looking — and  which  you  too  is 
perfectly  welcome  to  bring  any  gentleman  company 
to  any  time  you 've  a  mind. 

"  Well,  she  looked  at  me  sort  of  scornful,  and  an- 
swered me  real  peart-like,  and  said  she  guessed  she 
could  take  care  of  herself.  She  tossed  her  head  in 
a  pretty  taking  way  she  had,  and  walked  down- 
stairs, as  though  I  had  turribly  insulted  her;  so 
what  could  I  do  ?  " 

Again  she  paused,  panting  for  breath  in  short, 
wheezy  gasps. 

"  And  what  became  of  her  at  last?  "  I  asked. 

"  What  became  of  her !  "  she  echoed.  "  What 
40 


THE  LONG  DAY 

becomes  of  all  of  'em?"  and  she  jerked  her  head 
significantly  in  the  vague  direction  of  the  street. 
"  She  left  soon  after  that,  though  I  never  said  an- 
other word  to  her,  but  just  kept  on  bidding  her  the 
time  of  day,  as  if  nothing  had  ever  passed  between 
us.  I  felt  turrible  about  her  leaving,  too ;  and  I  tried 
to  persuade  her  she  was  making  a  mistake  by  leav- 
ing a  house  that  she  knowed  was  decent  and  where 
she  could  manage  to  live  within  her  means.  Oh, 
you  don't  know  how  I  felt  for  days  and  weeks  after 
she  went.  I  knew  how  good  she  was  when  she  come 
to  this  house,  and  I  kept  thinking  how  my  Annie 
might  have  been  just  as  foolish  and  heedless  if  she 'd 
been  throwed  amongst  strangers  and  had  the  same 
temptations.  I  don't  know  where  she  went  exactly. 
She  did  n't  give  me  much  satisfaction  about  it,  and 
I  never  seen  her  again,  till  one  morning  this  winter, 
when  I  went  out  to  bring  in  my  ash-cans,  I  run  right 
into  her.  It  was  real  early  in  the  morning,  just  get- 
ting daylight.  I  always  get  up  at  five  o'clock  win- 
ter and  summer,  because  I  'm  used  to  it;  and  then 
I 've  got  to,  so 's  to  get  the  work  done,  for  I  can't 
work  fast  with  my  rheumatics.  It  was  hardly  light 
enough  yet  for  me  to  recognize  her  right  away,  and 
she  did  look  so  forlorn  and  pitiful-like  walking  there 
so  early  in  the  morning  in  the  snow.    It  had  snowed 

41 


THE  LONG  DAY 

in  the  night,  and  it  was  the  first  we 'd  had  this  sea- 
son. She  did  n't  see  me  at  first.  She  was  walking 
slow, — real  slow  and  lingering-like, — like  them  poor 
things  do.  I  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
in  the  areaway,  and  her  face  was  turned  across  the 
street,  as  if  she  was  expecting  somebody.  I  tried  to 
speak  to  her,  but  sometimes  something  catches  me 
when  I  'm  strong  moved  and  I  can't  sound  a  word 
for  several  moments.  And  that  's  the  way  I  was 
struck  that  morning.  I  started  to  run  after  her; 
then  I  thought  better  of  it,  and  sort  of  guessed  she 'd 
turn  around  at  the  corner  and  come  back.  So  I  went 
to  the  cans  and  made  believe  to  be  turrible  interested 
in  them,  and  when  I  looked  up,  sure  enough  she  had 
started  back  again,  and  I  had  caught  her  eye. 

"  Thinking  of  Annie,  I  bade  her  the  time  of  day 
real  friendly-like,  just  as  though  everything  was  all 
right,  and  I  asked  her  to  come  in  and  have  a  bite 
of  breakfast.  I  'd  left  the  coffee  on  the  stove,  and 
had  fried  myself  a  nice  mess  of  onions.  She  looked 
sort  of  half  shamed  and  half  grateful,  and  had 
started  to  come  with  me,  when  all  of  a  sudden  she 
stopped  and  said  she  guessed  she  could  n't  that 
morning.  Then  she  strolled  off  again.  I  picked  up 
my  ash-cans  and  started  down-stairs,  but  I  was  n't 
half-way  down  when  I  saw  her  hurrying  along  the 

42 


THE  LONG  DAY 


other  side  of  the  street  with  a  man  I  'd  seen  come 
round  the  corner  by  Skelly's  saloon  while  we  was 
talking  together.    And  I  never  saw  her  again." 

An  expression  of  pathos,  infinitely  sweet  and  ten- 
der, had  crept  into  the  woman's  thin,  worn  face — 
an  expression  in  strange,  almost  ludicrous,  contrast 
to  the  high,  cracked  voice  in  which  the  tale  had  been 
delivered.  I  gazed  at  the  bent  old  creature  with 
something  like  reverence  for  the  nobility  which  I 
now  could  read  so  plainly  in  every  line  of  her  face — 
the  nobility  which  can  attach  itself  only  to  decency 
of  life  and  thought  and  action.  In  my  brief  inter- 
view with  her  in  the  twilight  of  the  evening  before 
I  had  heard  only  the  ridiculous  jargon  of  a  woman 
without  a  palate,  and  I  had  seen  only  an  old  crone 
with  a  soot-smeared  face.  But  now  the  maimed 
voice  echoed  in  my  ears  like  the  sound  of  the  little 
old  melodeon  with  the  broken  strings — which  had 
been  my  mother's. 

"  I  must  be  going  now,"  she  said,  rising  with  an 
effort.  "  You  '11  come  down  and  see  me  sometimes, 
won't  you,  honey?  I  like  young  people.  They  sort 
of  cheer  me  up  when  I  feel  down.  Come  down  this 
afternoon,  if  you  have  n't  got  any  place  to  go. 
Come  down  and  I  '11  lend  you  some  books." 

I  thanked  her,  and  promised  I  would. 

43 


IV 


WHEREIN   FATE   BRINGS   ME   GOOD   FORTUNE   IN  ONE 
HAND  AND  DISASTER  IN  THE  OTHER 

MONDAY  morning — a  cheerless,  bleak 
Monday  morning,  with  the  rain  falling 
upon  the  slush-filled  streets.  I  ate  a 
hurried  breakfast  of  bread  and  butter  and  black 
coffee,  locked  my  door,  and  started  out  with  renewed 
vigor  to  look  for  a  job.  I  had  learned  by  this  time 
to  use  a  little  discrimination  in  answering  advertise- 
ments ;  and  from  now  on  I  paid  attention  to  such 
prospective  employers  only  as  stated  the  nature  of 
their  business  and  gave  a  street  number. 

I  had  also  learned  another  important  thing,  and 
that  was  that  I  could  not  afford  to  be  too  particular 
about  the  nature  of  my  job,  as  I  watched  my  small 
capital  diminish  day  by  day,  despite  my  frugality. 
I  would  have  been  glad,  now,  to  get  work  at  any- 
thing that  promised  the  chance  of  a  meager  liveli- 
hood. Anything  to  get  a  foothold.  The  chief  ob- 
stacle seemed  to  be  my  inexperience.    I  could  obtain 

44 


THE  LONG  DAY 


plenty  of  work  which  in  time  promised  to  pay  me 
five  dollars  a  week,  but  in  the  two  or  three  months' 
time  necessary  to  acquire  dexterity  I  should  have 
starved  to  death,  for  I  had  not  money  to  carry  me 
over  this  critical  period. 

Work  was  plenty  enough.  It  nearly  always  is  so. 
The  question  was  not  how  to  get  a  job,  but  how  to 
live  by  such  jobs  as  I  could  get.  The  low  wages 
offered  to  green  hands — two  and  a  half  to  three  dol- 
lars a  week — might  do  for  the  girl  who  lived  at 
home ;  but  I  had  to  pay  room-rent  and  car-fare  and 
to  buy  food.  So,  as  long  as  my  small  capital  could 
be  made  to  hold  out  I  continued  my  search  for  some- 
thing that  would  pay  at  least  five  dollars  a  week 
to  begin  with. 

On  Monday  night  I  was  no  nearer  to  being  a 
bread-winner  than  when  I  had  started  out  for  the 
first  time  from  Miss  Jamison's  boarding-house.  I 
climbed  the  bare  stairs  at  nightfall,  and  as  I  fumbled 
at  the  keyhole  I  could  hear  the  click  of  a  typewriter 
in  the  room  next  to  mine.  My  room  was  quite  dark, 
but  there  was  a  patch  of  dim  white  on  the  floor  that 
sent  a  thrill  of  gladness  all  over  me.  I  lighted  the 
lamp  and  tore  open  the  precious  envelop  before  tak- 
ing off  my  gloves  or  hat.  It  was  a  note  from  Minnie 
Plympton,  saying  she  had  got  employment  as  dem- 

45 


THE  LONG  DAY 


onstrator  for  a  cereal-food  company,  and  was  mak- 
ing a  tour  of  the  small  New  England  cities.  The 
letter  was  dated  at  Bangor,  Maine,  and  she  asked 
me  to  write  her  at  Portland,  where  she  expected  to 
be  all  week ;  and  which  I  did,  at  considerable  length, 
after  I  had  cooked  and  eaten  my  supper. 

Bread  and  butter  and  black  coffee  for  breakfast, 
and  potato-soup  and  bread  and  butter  for  supper, 
with  plain  bread  and  butter  done  up  in  a  piece  of 
paper  and  carried  with  me  for  luncheon — this  was 
my  daily  menu  for  the  weeks  that  followed,  varied 
on  two  occasions  by  the  purchase  of  a  half-pint  of 
New  Orleans  molasses. 

The  advertisements  for  cigar  and  cigarette  work- 
ers were  very  numerous;  and  as  that  sounded  like 
humble  work,  I  thought  I  might  stand  a  better 
chance  in  that  line  than  any  other.  Accordingly 
I  applied  to  the  foreman  of  a  factory  in  Avenue  A, 
who  wanted  "  bunch-makers."  He  heard  my  peti- 
tion in  a  drafty  hallway  through  which  a  small 
army  of  boys  and  girls  were  pouring,  each  one  stop- 
ping to  insert  a  key  in  a  time-register.  They  were 
just  coming  to  work,  for  I  was  very  early.  The 
foreman,  a  young  German,  cut  me  off  unceremoni- 
ously by  asking  to  see  my  working-card ;  and  when 

46 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I  looked  at  him  blankly,  for  I  had  n't  a  ghost  of  an 
idea  what  he  meant,  he  strode  away  in  disgust,  leav- 
ing me  to  conjecture  as  to  his  meaning. 

Nothing  daunted,  however,  for  I  meant  to  be  very 
energetic  and  brave  that  morning,  I  went  to  the  next 
factory.  Here  they  wanted  "  labelers,"  and  as  this 
sounded  easy,  I  approached  the  foreman  with  some- 
thing like  confidence.  He  asked  what  experience 
I 'd  had,  and  I  gave  him  a  truthful  reply. 

"  Sorry,  but  we  're  not  running  any  kindergarten 
here,"  he  replied  curtly  and  turned  away. 

I  was  still  determined  that  I  'd  join  the  rank  of 
cigar-makers.  Somehow,  they  impressed  me  as  a 
very  prosperous  lot  of  people,  and  there  was  some- 
thing pungent  and  wholesome  in  the  smell  of  the  big, 
bright  workrooms. 

The  third  foreman  I  besought  was  an  elderly 
German  with  a  paternal  manner.  He  listened  to  me 
kindly,  said  I  looked  quick,  and  offered  to  put  me 
on  as  an  apprentice,  explaining  with  much  pompos- 
ity that  cigar-making  was  a  very  difficult  trade,  at 
which  I  must  serve  a  three  years'  apprenticeship 
before  I  could  become  a  member  of  the  union  and 
entitled  to  draw  union  wages.  I  left  him  feeling 
very  humble,  and  likewise  disillusioned  of  my  cigar- 
making  ambitions. 

47 


THE  LONG  DAY 

"  Girls  wanted  to  learn  binding  and  folding- 
paid  while  learning."  The  address  took  me  to 
Brooklyn  Bridge  and  down  a  strange,  dark  thorough- 
fare running  toward  the  East  River.  Above  was  the 
great  bridge,  unreal,  fai^-like  in  the  morning  mist. 
I  was  looking  for  Rose  Street,  which  proved  to  be  a 
zigzag  alley  that  wriggled  through  one  of  the  great 
bridge  arches  into  a  world  of  book -binderies.  Rose 
Street  was  choked  with  moving  carts  loaded  with  yel- 
low-back literature  done  up  in  bales.  The  superin- 
tendent proved  to  be  a  civil  young  man.  He  did  not 
need  me  before  Monday,  but  he  told  me  to  come  back 
that  day  at  half-past  seven  and  to  bring  a  bone 
paper-cutter  with  me.  He  paid  only  three  dollars 
a  week,  and  I  accepted,  but  with  the  hope  that  as  this 
was  only  Thursday,  and  not  yet  nine  o'clock,  I  might 
find  something  better  in  the  meantime. 

A  Brooklyn  merchant  was  in  need  of  two  "  sales- 
ladies— experience  not  necessary."  A  trolley-car 
swirled  me  across  the  river,  now  glistering  in  the 
spring  sunshine.  We  were  hurtled  down  intermin- 
able vistas  of  small  shops,  always  under  the  grim 
iron  trestle  of  the  elevated  railroad.  At  the  end  of 
an  hour  I  entered  the  "  Majestic,"  a  small  store 
stocked  with  trash.  After  much  dickering,  Mr. 
Lindbloom  and  his  wife  decided  I 'd  do  at  three  and 

48 


THE  LONG  DAY 


a  half  dollars  per  week,  working  from  seven  in  the 
morning  till  nine  in  the  evening,  Saturdays  till  mid- 
night. I  departed  with  the  vow  that  if  I  must  work 
and  starve,  I  should  not  do  both  in  Lindbloom's. 

Five  cents  got  me  back  to  Cortlandt  Street  in 
Manhattan,  where  I  called  upon  a  candy-manufac- 
turer who  wanted  bonbon-makers.  The  French  fore- 
man, in  snowy  cap  and  apron,  received  me  in  a  great 
room  dazzling  with  white-tile  walls  and  floor,  and 
filled  with  bright-eyed  girls,  also  in  caps  and  aprons, 
and  working  before  marble  tables.  The  Frenchman 
was  polite  and  apologetic,  but  they  never  hired  any 
but  experienced  workers. 

It  was  half -past  three,  and  I  had  two  more  names 
on  my  list.  Rose-making  sounded  attractive,  and  I 
walked  all  the  way  up  to  Bond  Street.  Shabby  and 
prosaic,  this  street,  strangely  enough,  has  been  se- 
lected as  the  forcing-ground  or  nursery  of  artificial 
flowers.  Its  signs  on  both  sides,  even  unto  the  top 
floor,  proclaim  some  specialization  of  fashionable 
millinery — flowers,  feathers,  aigrets,  wire  hat- 
frames.  On  the  third  floor,  rear,  of  a  once  fashion- 
able mansion,  now  fallen  into  decay,  I  stumbled  into 
a  room,  radiantly  scarlet  with  roses.  The  jangling 
bell  attached  to  the  door  aroused  no  curiosity  what- 
ever in  the  white-faced  girls  bending  over  these  gay 

4  49 


THE  LONG  DAY 


garlands.  It  was  a  signal,  though,  for  a  thick-set 
beetle-browed  young  fellow  to  bounce  in  from  the 
next  room  and  curtly  demand  my  business. 

"  We  only  pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  learners," 
he  said,  smiling  unpleasantly  over  large  yellow  teeth. 
I  fled  in  dismay.  Down  Broadway,  along  Bleecker, 
and  up  squalid  Thompson  Street  I  hurried  to  a 
paper-box  factory. 

The  office  of  E.  Springer  &  Company  was  in 
pleasant  contrast  to  the  flower  sweat-shop,  for  all 
its  bright  colors.  So,  too,  was  there  a  grateful  com- 
parison between  the  Jew  of  the  ugly  smile  and  the 
portly  young  man  who  sat  behind  a  glass  partition 
and  acknowledged  my  entrance  by  glancing  up  from 
his  ledger.  The  remark  he  made  was  evidently  witty 
and  not  intended  for  my  ears,  for  it  made  the  assis- 
tant bookkeeper — a  woman — and  the  two  women 
typewriters  laugh  and  crane  their  necks  in  my  di- 
rection. The  bookkeeper  climbed  down  from  his 
high  stool  and  opened  the  glass  door.  He  was  as 
kind  now  as  he  was  formerly  merry.  Possibly  he 
had  seen  my  chin  quiver  the  least  bit,  and  knew  I 
was  almost  ready  to  cry.  He  did  not  ask  many  ques- 
tions; but  presently  he  sent  one  typewriter  flying 
up-stairs  for  the  superintendent,  and  the  other  was 
sent  to  ask  of  the  forewoman  if  all  the  jobs  were 

50 


THE  LONG  DAY 


filled.  The  superintendent  proved  to  be  a  woman, 
shrewd,  keen-faced,  and  bespectacled.  The  fore- 
woman sent  down  word  that  No.  105  had  not  rung 
up  that  morning,  and  that  I  could  have  her  key. 
The  pay  was  three  dollars  a  week  to  learners,  but 
Miss  Price,  the  superintendent,  thought  I  could 
learn  in  a  week's  time,  which  opinion  the  portly 
gentleman  heartily  indorsed,  and  so  I  allowed  him 
to  enroll  my  name.  He  gave  me  a  key,  showed  me 
how  to  "  ring  up  "  in  the  register  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  told  me  that  henceforth  I  should  be  known 
as  "  105." 

I  thanked  him  in  as  steady  a  voice  as  I  could  com- 
mand, and  reached  the  street  door  on  the  stroke  of 
six,  just  in  time  to  hear  my  shopmates  of  the  morrow 
laughing  and  scrambling  down-stairs  in  their  mad 
effort  to  get  away  from  that  which  I  had  been  trying 
to  obtain  for  so  many  weeks. 

The  street  I  stepped  into  had  been  transformed. 
Behind  my  blurred  vision,  as  I  hurried  along,  I  saw 
no  squalor,  no  wretchedness  now.  Through  tears 
of  thankfulness  the  houses,  the  streets,  and  the  hur- 
rying people  were  all  glorified,  all  transfigured. 
Everything  was  right — the  whole  world  and  every- 
body in  it. 

Thus  I  sped  homeward  on  that  eventful  evening, 
51 


THE  LONG  DAY 


eager  to  tell  my  good  news  to  Mrs.  Pringle,  who,  I 
knew,  would  be  glad  to  hear  it.  As  I  drew  near  the 
block  where  I  lived,  I  became  half  conscious  of  some- 
thing strange  and  unusual  in  the  atmosphere ;  I  felt 
the  strange  sensation  of  being  lost,  of  being  in  the 
wrong  place.  Men  and  women  stood  about  in  silent 
knots,  and  through  the  deep  twilight  I  felt  rather 
than  heard  the  deep  throbbing  of  fire-engines. 
Pressing  through  the  little  knots  of  men  and  wo- 
men, I  stood  before  the  red  mass  of  embers  and 
watched  the  firemen  pour  their  quenching  streams 
upon  the  ashes  of  my  lodging-house. 

Dazed,  stupefied,  I  asked  questions  of  the  by- 
standers. But  nobody  knew  anything  definite.  One 
man  said  he  guessed  a  good  many  lives  had  been 
lost;  the  woman  next  to  him  said  she  'd  heard  the 
number  was  five. 

The  houses  on  both  sides  were  still  standing,  the 
windows  smashed  in,  and  the  tenants  fled.  There 
seemed  to  be  not  even  a  neighbor  who  might  know 
of  the  fate  of  my  lodging-house  acquaintance  or  of 
my  good  friend  Mrs.  Pringle.  I  spoke  to  a  police- 
man. He  listened  gently,  and  then  conducted  me 
to  a  house  in  Fifteenth  Street,  where  they  had  of- 
fered shelter  for  the  night  to  any  refugees  who  might 
desire  it. 

52 


THE  LONG  DAY 


The  basement  of  this  house  had  been  turned  into 
a  dormitory,  one  section  for  the  men  and  the  other 
for  the  women,  who  were  in  greater  number  and 
came  straggling  in  one  by  one.  A  man-servant  in 
livery  passed  hot  coffee  and  sandwiches,  which  we 
swallowed  mechanically,  regarding  one  another  and 
our  surroundings  with  stupid  bewilderment.  I  had 
never  met  any  of  these  people  before,  though  they 
had  all  been  my  fellow-lodgers. 

The  girl  sitting  on  the  cot  next  to  mine  passed 
her  cup  up  for  more  coffee,  and  as  she  did  so  turned 
a  quizzical  gaze  upon  me.  She  was  stupid  and  ugly. 
Her  quizzical  look  deepened  into  curiosity,  and  by 
and  by  she  asked : 

"  Youse  did  n't  live  there  too,  did  youse  ?  99 

Our  common  misfortune  inspired  me  to  a  cordial 
reply,  and  we  fell  into  a  discussion  of  the  catas- 
trophe. Her  English  was  so  sadly  perverted  and  her 
voice  so  guttural  that  I  could  make  out  her  mean- 
ing only  with  the  greatest  exercise  of  the  imagina- 
tion. But  it  was  to  the  effect  that  the  fire  had  started 
in  a  room  on  the  top  floor,  whither  poor  old  Mrs. 
Pringle  had  gone  about  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon with  a  bucket  of  coal  for  the  fire.  Just  what 
happened  nobody  knew.  Every  one  on  the  top  floor 
at  the  time  had  perished,  including  Mrs.  Pringle. 

53 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Did  n't  youse  get  nothin'  out,  neither?  "  asked 
my  companion.  And  then  it  dawned  upon  me  for 
the  first  time  that  I  had  nothing  in  all  the  world 
now  but  the  clothes  on  my  back  and  the  promise 
of  work  on  the  morrow. 

"  Yes,  I  have  lost  everything,"  I  answered. 

"  Youse  got  anything  in  the  bank?  "  she  pursued. 

The  question  seemed  to  me  ironical  and  not 
worthy  of  notice. 

"  I  have.  I  've  got  'most  five  hundred  dollars 
saved  up,"  she  went  on. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars !  " 

The  girl  nodded.  "  Huh,  that  's  what !  I  could 
live  tony  if  I  wanted,  but  I  like  to  save  my  money. 
I  makes  good  money,  too, — twelve  dollars  a  week, — 
and  I  don't  spend  it,  neither." 

"What  do  you  do?"  I  asked,  regarding  the 
large,  rough  hands  with  something  like  admiration 
for  their  earning  abilities. 

"  I  'm  a  lady -buffer,"  she  answered,  with  a  touch 
of  pride. 

"A  lady-buffer!  What  's  that?"  I  cried,  look- 
ing at  the  slovenly,  dirt-streaked  wrapper  and  the 
shabby  golf -cape  that  had  slipped  from  her  shoul- 
ders to  the  cot.  She  regarded  me  with  pity  for  my 
ignorance,  and  then  delivered  herself  of  an  axiom. 

54 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  A  lady-buffer  is  a  lady  what  buffs."  And,  to 
render  the  definition  still  more  explicit,  she  rolled  up 
the  sleeve  of  her  wrapper,  showed  me  mighty  biceps, 
and  then  with  her  arm  performed  several  rapid  revo- 
lutions in  midair. 

"  What  do  you  buff?  "  I  next  ventured. 

"  Brass!" 

This  laconic  reply  squelched  me  completely,  and 
I  subsided  without  further  conversation. 

Despite  my  weariness,  there  was  little  sleep  for  me 
that  night.  Affairs  had  come  to  a  crisis;  my  con- 
dition was  about  as  bad  as  it  could  possibly  be. 
Whatever  was  going  to  become  of  me?  Why,  in  the 
name  of  all  common  sense,  had  I  ever  come  to  New 
York?  Why  was  I  not  content  to  remain  a  country 
school-ma'am,  in  a  place  where  a  country  school- 
ma'am  was  looked  up  to  as  something  of  a  person- 
age? That  night,  if  I  had  had  enough  money  to 
buy  a  ticket  back  to  the  town  I  had  come  from,  my 
fate  would  have  been  settled  definitely  then  and 
there. 

Not  the  least  distressing  part  of  my  condition  was 
the  fact  that  there  was  really  no  help  for  me  save 
what  I  should  be  able  to  give  myself.  To  be  sure, 
I  had  certain  distant  relatives  and  friends  who  had 
warned  me  against  my  flight  to  the  city,  and  to 

55 


THE  LONG  DAY 

whom  I  might  have  written  begging  for  money  suffi- 
cient to  carry  me  back  to  my  native  place,  and  the 
money,  with  many  "  I-told-you-so's,"  would  have 
been  forthcoming.  To  return  discredited  was  more 
than  my  pride  could  bear.  I  had  to  earn  my  liveli- 
hood anyway,  and  so,  on  this  night  of  grim  adver- 
sity, owing  my  very  bed  and  supper  to  charity,  I 
set  my  teeth,  and  closed  my  tired  lids  over  the  tears 
I  could  not  hide,  and  swore  I  'd  fight  it  out  alone, 
so  long  as  I  had  strength  to  stand  and  heart  to  hope ; 
and  then  there  was  the  prospect  of  a  job  at 
Springer's  on  the  morrow,  though  the  wage  would 
hardly  keep  body  and  soul  together. 

The  next  morning,  while  her  servants  were  giving 
us  our  breakfast,  a  stately  middle-aged  woman  came 
down  to  the  basement  and  passed  among  us,  making 
inquiries  regarding  our  various  conditions,  and  of- 
fering words  of  well-meant,  if  patronizing,  advice 
and  suggestion  wherever  she  thought  them  needed, 
but  which  somehow  did  not  seem  to  be  relished  as 
her  more  material  kindness  had  been.  When  it  came 
my  turn  to  be  interviewed  I  answered  her  many 
questions  frankly  and  promptly,  and,  encouraged  by 
the  evident  interest  which  she  displayed  in  my  case, 
I  was  prompted  to  ask  her  if  she  might  know  of  any 

56 


THE  LONG  DAY 

place  where  I  could  get  work.  She  looked  at  me  a 
moment  out  of  fine,  clear  eyes. 

"  You  would  not  go  into  service,  I  suppose  ?  " 
she  asked  slowly. 

I  had  never  thought  of  such  an  alternative  before, 
but  I  met  it  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  No, 
I  would  not  care  to  go  into  service,"  I  replied,  and 
as  I  did  so  the  lady's  face  showed  mingled  disap- 
pointment and  disgust. 

"  That  is  too  bad,"  she  answered,  "  for  in  that 
case  I  'm  afraid  I  can  do  nothing  for  you."  And 
with  that  she  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  me,  I 
must  confess,  not  sorry  for  having  thus  bluntly  de- 
clared against  wearing  the  definite  badge  of  servi- 
tude. 


57 


V 


IN  WHICH  I  AM  "  LEARNED  "  BY  PHffiBE  IN  THE 
ART  OF  BOX-MAKING 

THE  "  lady-buffer  "  and  I  were  the  last  to 
leave  the  house.  We  went  out  together 
and  parted  company  at  Third  Avenue,  she 
going  south  to  her  work,  and  I  continuing  along  the 
street  westward.  The  catastrophe  of  the  preceding 
day  seemed  to  have  entirely  evaporated  from  her 
memory;  she  seemed  also  to  have  forgotten  the  inci- 
dent of  our  meeting  and  conversation  of  the  night 
before,  for  she  made  no  comment,  nor  even  gave  me 
a  parting  greeting. 

I  was  inclined  to  reproach  such  heartlessness  as  I 
hurried  along,  when  suddenly  it  was  borne  in  upon 
my  consciousness  that  it  was  I,  not  she,  who  was  open 
to  that  charge.  Here  I  was,  speeding  along  to  my 
work  with  hope  in  my  heart,  sometimes  almost  for- 
getting that  the  woman  who  had  been  so  kind  to  me 
was  probably  lying  in  the  morgue,  awaiting  burial 
in  the  Potter's  Field,  unless  saved  from  that  ignoble 

58 


THE  LONG  DAY 


end  by  some  friend.  And  yet  I  was  powerless.  I 
could  not  even  spare  time  to  go  to  the  morgue  or  to 
make  inquiries.  I  knew  not  a  soul  who  could  have 
helped  me,  and  I  had  only  one  dollar  and  a  half  in  all 
the  world,  no  place  to  sleep  that  night,  no  change  of 
garments,  nothing  except  the  promise  of  work  that 
morning  at  Springer's.  I  stopped  at  the  corner, 
strongly  tempted  by  my  innate  sense  of  decency  to 
the  memory  of  the  dead.  But  only  for  a  moment: 
the  law  of  life — self-preservation — again  asserted 
itself,  and  for  the  time  being  I  put  the  past  behind 
me  and  hurried  on  toward  Thompson  Street. 

It  lacked  but  a  few  minutes  of  eight  o'clock  when, 
at  last,  I  turned  into  the  squalid  street  at  the  end  of 
which  stands  Springer's.  In  the  sunshine  of  the 
mild  March  morning  the  facade  of  the  tall  buff 
building  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  gaunt,  ugly, 
unkempt  hag,  frowning  between  bleared  old  eyes 
that  seemed  to  coax — nay,  rather  to  coerce  me  into 
entering  her  awful  house. 

The  instant  impression  was  one  of  repulsion, 
and  the  impulse  was  to  run  away.  But  there  was 
fascination,  too,  in  the  hag-like  visage  of  those 
grim  brick  walls,  checkered  with  innumerable  dirty 
windows  and  trussed  up,  like  a  paralytic  old  crone, 
with  rusty  fire-escapes.    It  was  the  fascination  of 

59 


THE  LONG  DAY 

the  mysterious  and  of  the  evil;  and,  repulsive  and 
forbidding  as  was  its  general  aspect,  nothing  could 
now  have  induced  me  to  turn  back.  Instinct  told  me 
that  I  was  about  to  enter  into  no  commonplace  ex- 
perience. And  so,  unresisting,  I  was  borne  along  in 
the  swift  current  of  humanity  that  was  swept  down 
the  street,  like  the  water  in  a  mill-race,  to  turn  the 
wheels  of  workshop  and  factory.  Before  Springer's 
a  great  arm  of  this  human  mill-stream  eddied  inward, 
to  be  lost  in  another  moment  in  the  vortex  of  the 
wide  black  doors,  whence  issued  muffled  sounds  of  the 
pandemonium  within.  At  the  last  moment  I  hesi- 
tated, obsessed  once  more  with  the  indefinable  horror 
of  it  all.  Again  there  was  the  strong  impulse  to  run 
away — far,  far  away  from  Springer's  and  from 
Thompson  Street,  when  suddenly  the  old  monody 
began  to  ring  in  my  ears,  "  work  or  starve,  work 
or  starve  !  "  Another  moment,  and  I  too  had  passed 
within  the  wide  black  doors. 

The  entrance  passage  was  lighted  by  a  sickly  gas- 
jet,  and  in  its  flicker  a  horde  of  loud-mouthed  girls 
were  making  frantic  efforts  to  insert  their  keys  in 
the  time-register.  I  was  jostled  and  tumbled  over 
unceremoniously.  I  was  pushed  and  punched  un- 
mercifully by  the  crowding  elbows,  until  I  found  my- 
self squeezed  tight  against  the  wall.    From  the 

60 


THE  LONG  DAY 


scrambling  and  confusion  it  was  evident  everybody 
was  late,  and  tones  and  language  attested  to  racked 
nerves  and  querulous  tempers.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  scuffle  and  the  sharp  scraping  of  feet  on  the  floor. 

"  Get  out,  yez  dirty  Irish !  "  rang  out  in  the  sti- 
fling air. 

"  I  wuz  here  fust !  "  snarled  another  voice. 
"  Call  me  dirty  Irish  ag'in  and  I  '11  dirty  Irish 
you !  " 

The  black-haired  girl  had  accepted  the  challenge, 
and  the  maligned  daughter  of  Erin,  cheeks  aflame 
and  eyes  blazing,  rushed  at  her  detractor  with 
clenched  fist. 

"  Go  for  her,  Rosie !  She  's  nothin'  but  a  dirty 
black  Ginney,  nohow !  " 

"  Pitch  into  her,  Celie !  Punch  her !  "  yelled  a 
chorus  from  the  stairs  who  came  swooping  down  from 
above,  attracted  by  the  scrimmage,  and  just  in  time 
to  see  the  combatants  rush  at  each  other  in  a  hand- 
to-hand  struggle,  punctuated  with  loud  oaths. 

The  noise  suddenly  subsided  at  the  screeching  of 
a  raucous  nasal  voice. 

"  Well,  young  ladies !  What  does  this  mean  ?  99  de- 
manded the  superintendent,  and  Rosie  and  Celie  both 
began  to  talk  at  once. 

"  Never  mind  about  the  rest  of  it,"  snapped  Miss 
61 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Price,  cutting  the  tale  short.  "  I  '11  dock  you  both 
half  a  day's  pay;  and  the  next  time  it  happens 
you  '11  both  be  fired  on  the  spot." 

Then  Miss  Price  turned  to  me,  while  the  now  silent 
wranglers  meekly  turned  their  keys  in  the  register 
and  marched  up-stairs,  whither  their  respective  fac- 
tions had  since  disappeared. 

"  I  do  hope  to  goodness  you  ain't  high-tempered 
like  some  is,"  she  remarked,  with  an  effort  toward 
affability,  as  we  stepped  before  the  time-register, 
where  I  inserted  my  key  for  the  first  time.  "  All  I 
got  to  say  is,  don't  get  into  no  fights  with  the  girls. 
When  they  say  things  to  you,  don't  talk  back.  It 's 
them  that  just  takes  things  as  they  come,  and  lets 
bygones  be  bygones,  that  get  the  good  checks  at  the 
end  of  the  week.  Some  of  them  fight  more  'n  they 
work,  but  I  guess  you  won't  be  that  kind,"  she  con- 
cluded, with  an  unctuous  smile,  displaying  two  rows 
of  false  teeth.  Then,  with  a  quick,  nervous,  jerky 
gait,  she  hopped  up  the  flight  of  rough  plank  stairs, 
threw  open  a  door,  and  ushered  me  into  the  bedlam 
noises  of  the  "  loft,"  where,  amid  the  roar  of  ma- 
chinery and  the  hum  of  innumerable  voices,  I  was  to 
meet  my  prospective  forewoman. 

"  Miss  Kinzer !  Here  's  a  lady  wants  to  learn," 
shrilled   the   high   nasal   voice.     "  Miss   Kinzer ! 

62 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Where  's  Miss  Kinzer?  Oh,  here  you  are!"  as  a 
young  woman  emerged  from  behind  a  pile  of  paste- 
board boxes.  "  I 've  a  learner  for  you,  Miss  Kinzer. 
She 's  a  green  girl,  but  she  looks  likely,  and  I  want 
you  to  give  her  a  good  chance.  Better  put  her  on 
table-work  to  begin  with."  And  with  that  injunc- 
tion the  little  old  maid  hopped  away,  leaving  me  to 
the  scrutiny  and  cross-questioning  of  a  rather  pretty 
woman  of  twenty-eight  or  thirty. 

"  Ever  worked  in  a  factory  before?  "  she  began, 
with  lofty  indifference,  as  if  it  did  n't  matter 
whether  I  had  or  had  not. 

"  No." 

"  Where  did  you  work  ?  " 

"  I  never  worked  any  place  before." 

"  Oh-h ! "  There  was  a  world  of  meaning,  as  I 
afterward  discovered,  in  Miss  Kinzer's  long-drawn- 
out  "  Oh-h !  "  In  this  instance  she  looked  up  quickly, 
with  an  obvious  display  of  interest,  as  if  she  had  just 
unearthed  a  remarkable  specimen  in  one  who  had 
never  worked  at  anything  before. 

"  You  're  not  used  to  work,  then  ?  "  she  remarked 
insinuatingly,  straightening  up  from  the  rude  desk 
where  she  sat  like  the  judge  of  a  police-court.  She 
was  now  all  attention. 

"  Well,  not  exactly  that,"  I  replied,  nettled  by  her 
63 


THE  LONG  DAY 


manner  and,  above  all,  by  her  way  of  putting  things. 
"  I  have  worked  before,  but  never  at  factory-work." 

"  Then  why  did  n't  you  say  so  ?  " 

She  now  opened  her  book  and  inscribed  my  name 
therein. 

"  Where  do  you  live?  99 

"  Over  in  East  Fourteenth  Street,"  I  replied 
mechanically,  forgetting  for  the  moment  the  catas- 
trophe that  had  rendered  me  more  homeless  than 
ever. 

"  Home?" 

"  No,  I  room."  Then,  reading  only  too  quickly 
an  unpleasant  interpretation  in  the  uplifted  eye- 
brows, a  disagreeable  curiosity  mirrored  in  the 
brown  eyes  beneath,  I  added  hastily,  "  I  have  no 
home.    My  folks  are  all  dead." 

What  impression  this  bit  of  information  made  I 
was  unable  to  determine  as  I  followed  her  slender, 
slightly  bowed  figure  across  the  busy,  roaring  work- 
room. 

"  Be  careful  you  don't  get  hurt,"  she  cried,  as  we 
threaded  a  narrow  passage  in  and  out  among  the 
stamping,  throbbing  machinery,  where,  by  the  light 
that  filtered  through  the  grimy  windows,  I  got 
vague,  confused  glimpses  of  girl-faces  shining  like 
stars  out  of  this  dark,  fearful  chaos  of  revolving 

64 


THE  LONG  DAY 


belts  and  wheels,  and  above  the  bedlam  noises  came 
girlish  laughter  and  song. 

"  Good  morning,  Carrie !  "  one  quick-witted  toiler 
sang  out  as  she  spied  the  new  girl  in  tow  of  the  fore- 
woman, and  suddenly  the  whole  room  had  taken  up 
the  burden  of  the  song. 

"  Don't  mind  them,"  my  conductor  remarked. 
"  They  don't  mean  nothing  by  it — watch  out  there 
for  your  head ! 99 

Safe  through  the  outlying  ramparts  of  machinery, 
we  entered  the  domain  of  the  table-workers,  and  I 
was  turned  over  to  Phoebe,  a  tall  girl  in  tortoise  ear- 
rings and  curl-papers.  Phcebe  was  assigned  to 
"  learn  99  me  in  the  trade  of  "  finishing."  Somewhat 
to  my  surprise,  she  assumed  the  task  joyfully,  and 
helped  me  off  with  my  coat  and  hat.  From  the 
loud-mouthed  tirades  as  to  "  Annie  Kinzer's  nerve," 
it  became  evident  that  the  assignment  of  the  job  of 
"learner"  is  one  to  cause  heartburning  jealousies, 
and  that  Phoebe,  either  because  of  some  special 
adaptability  or  through  favoritism,  got  the  lion's 
share  of  novices. 

"  That 's  right,  Phoebe ;  hog  every  new  girl  that 
comes  along !  "  amiably  bawled  a  bright-faced,  tidy 
young  woman  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Smith.    Mrs.  Smith  worked  briskly  as  she  talked, 

5  65 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  the  burden  of  her  conversation  appeared  to  be 
the  heaping  of  this  sort  of  good-natured  invective 
upon  the  head  of  her  chum — or,  as  she  termed  it,  her 
"  lady-friend,"  Phoebe.  The  amiability  with  which 
Mrs.  Smith  dealt  out  her  epithets  was  only  equaled 
by  the  perfect  good  nature  of  her  victim,  who  replied 
to  each  and  all  of  them  with  a  musically  intoned, 
"  Hot  air!" 

"  Hot  A— i— r !  "  The  clear  tones  of  Phoebe's  so- 
prano set  the  echoes  ringing  all  over  the  great  work- 
room. In  and  out  among  the  aisles  and  labyrinthine 
passages  that  wind  through  towering  piles  of  boxes, 
from  the  thundering  machinery  far  over  on  the  other 
side  of  the  "  loft  "  to  the  dusky  recess  of  the  utter- 
most table,  the  musical  cry  reverberated. 

"  Hot  a — i — r !  "  Every  few  minutes,  all  through 
the  long,  weary  day,  Phoebe  found  occasion  for 
sounding  that  magic  call. 

"  The  rest  of  the  ladies  get  up  their  backs  some- 
thing awful,"  Phoebe  explained  as  she  dragged  a  big 
green  pasteboard  box  from  beneath  the  work-table. 
"  They  say  she  gives  me  more  'n  my  share  of  learners 
because  I 'm  easy  to  get  on  with,  I  guess,  and  don't 
play  no  tricks  on  them.  .  .  .  You  have  a  right  to 
put  your  things  in  here  along  with  my  lunch.  Them 
girls  is  like  to  do  'most  anything  to  a  new  girl's  duds 

66 


THE  LONG  DAY 


if  you  wuz  to  hang  them  in  the  coat-room.  Them 
Ginneys  '11  do  'most  anything.  Wuz  you  down-stairs 
when  Celie  Polatta  got  into  the  fight  with  Rosie  ?  " 

"  I  just  missed  it,"  she  sighed  in  reply  to  my 
affirmative.    "  I  was  born  unlucky." 

"  Hello,  Phoebe !  So  you 've  hogged  another !  "  a 
new*  voice  called  across  the  table,  and  I  put  a  ques- 
tion. 

"  Why  do  they  all  want  to  teach  the  new  girl?  I 
should  think  they 'd  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  trouble." 

"  You  mean  learn  her  ?  Why,  because  the  girl  that 
learns  the  green  hand  gets  all  her  work  checked  on  to 
her  own  card  while  she  's  learning  how.  Never 
worked  in  a  box-factory  before  ?  "   I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  guessed  as  much.  Well,  box-making 's  a  good 
trade.    Have  you  an  apron?  " 

As  I  had  not,  I  was  then  ordered  to  "  turn  my 
skirt,"  in  order  that  I  might  receive  the  inevitable 
coat  of  glue  and  paste  on  its  inner  rather  than  on  its 
outer  surface.  I  gently  demurred  against  this  very 
slovenly  expedient. 

"  All  right ;  call  it  hot  air  if  you  want  to.  I 
s'pose  you  know  it  all,"  tossing  her  curl-papers  with 
scorn.  "  You  know  better  'n  me,  of  course.  Most 
learners  do  think  they  knows  it  all.  Now  looky  here, 
I  've  been  here  six  years,  and  I  've  learned  lots  of 

67 


THE  LONG  DAY 


green  girls,  and  I  never  had  one  as  did  n't  think  she 
had  n't  ought  to  turn  her  skirt.  The  ladies  I  'm 
used  to  working  with  likes  to  walk  home  looking 
decent  and  respectable,  no  difference  what  they  're 
like  other  times." 

With  the  respectability  of  my  ladyhood  thus  im- 
peached, and  lest  I  infringe  upon  the  cast-iron  code 
of  box-factory  etiquette,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
yield.  I  unhooked  my  skirt,  dropped  it  to  the  floor, 
and  stepped  out  of  it  in  a  trice,  anxious  to  do  any- 
thing to  win  back  the  good  will  of  Phoebe.  Instantly 
she  brightened,  and  good  humor  once  more  flashed 
over  her  grimy  features. 

"  H-m  !  that  's  the  stuff !  There 's  one  thing  you 
had  n't  ought  to  forget,  and  mind,  I 'm  speaking  as 
one  lady-friend  to  another  when  I  tell  you  these 
things — and  that  is,  that  you  have  a  right  to  do  as 
the  other  girls  in  the  factory  or  you  '11  never  get 
'long  with  them.  If  you  don't  they  '11  get  down  on 
you,  sure 's  pussy 's  a  cat ;  and  then  they  '11  make  it 
hot  for  you  with  complaining  to  the  forelady.  And 
then  she  '11  get  down  on  you  after  while  too,  and 
won't  give  you  no  good  orders  to  work  on;  and — 
well,  it 's  just  this  way :  a  girl  must  n't  be  odd." 

Continuing  her  philosophy  of  success,  Phoebe  pro- 
ceeded to  initiate  me  into  the  first  process  of  my  job, 

68 


THE  LONG  DAY 


which  consisted  in  pasting  slippery,  sticky  strips  of 
muslin  over  the  corners  of  the  rough  brown  boxes 
that  were  piled  high  about  us  in  frail,  tottering  tow- 
ers reaching  to  the  ceiling,  which  was  trellised  over 
with  a  network  of  electric  wires  and  steam-pipes. 
Two  hundred  and  fifty  of  these  boxes  remained  to  be 
finished  on  the  particular  order  upon  which  Phoebe 
was  working.  Each  must  be  given  eight  muslin 
strips,  four  on  the  box  and  four  on  its  cover;  two 
tapes,  inserted  with  a  hair-pin  through  awl-holes ; 
two  tissue  "  flies,"  to  tuck  over  the  bonnet  soon  to 
nestle  underneath;  four  pieces  of  gay  paper  lace  to 
please  madame's  eye  when  the  lid  is  lifted ;  and  three 
labels,  one  on  the  bottom,  one  on  the  top,  and  one 
bearing  the  name  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  modiste  on  an 
escutcheon  of  gold  and  purple. 

The  job,  as  it  progressed,  entailed  ceaseless  shov- 
ing and  shifting  and  lifting.  In  order  that  we 
might  not  be  walled  in  completely  by  our  cumbersome 
materials,  every  few  minutes  we  bore  tottering  piles 
across  the  floor  to  the  "strippers." 

These  latter,  who  were  small  girls,  covered  the  sides 
with  glazed  paper  on  machines ;  and  as  fast  as  each 
box  was  thus  covered  it  was  tossed  to  the  "  turner- 
in,"  a  still  smaller  girl,  who  turned  in  the  overlap- 
ping edge  of  the  strip,  after  which  the  box  was  ready 

69 


THE  LONG  DAY 


to  come  back  to  the  table  for  the  next  process  at  our 
hands. 

By  ten  o'clock,  with  Mrs.  Smith's  gay  violet-boxes 
and  our  own  bonnet-boxes,  we  had  built  a  snug  bower 
all  round  our  particular  table.  Through  its  paste- 
board walls  the  din  and  the  songs  came  but  faintly. 
My  mates'  tongues  flew  as  fast  as  their  fingers.  The 
talk  was  chiefly  devoted  to  clothes,  Phoebe's  social 
activities,  and  the  evident  prosperity  of  Mrs.  Smith's 
husband's  folks,  among  whom  it  appeared  she  had 
only  recently  appeared  as  "  Jeff's  "  bride.  Having 
exhausted  the  Smiths,  she  again  gave  Phoebe  the  floor 
by  asking: 

"  Are  you  going  to-night?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  say !   Don't  I  look  it?  " 

To  determine  by  Phoebe's  appearance  where  she 
might  be  going  were  an  impossibility  to  the  un- 
initiated, for  her  dress  was  an  odd  combination  of 
the  extremes  of  wretchedness  and  luxury.  A  woe- 
fully torn  and  much-soiled  shirt-waist ;  a  gorgeous 
gold  watch  worn  on  her  breast  like  a  medal ;  a  black 
taffeta  skirt,  which,  under  the  glue-smeared  apron, 
emitted  an  unmistakable  frou-frou ;  three  Nethersole 
bracelets  on  her  wrist ;  and  her  feet  incased  in  colos- 
sal shoes,  broken  and  stringless.  The  latter  she  ex- 
plained to  Mrs.  Smith. 

70 


THE  LONG  DAY 


44  I  just  swiped  a  pair  of  paw's  and  brought  them 
along  this  morning,  or  I 'd  be  dished  for  getting  into 
them  high  heels  to-night.  My  corns  and  bunions 
'most  killed  me  yesterday — they  always  do  break  out 
bad  about  Easter.  My  pleasure  club,"  she  ex- 
plained, turning  to  me — "  my  pleasure  club,  4  The 
Moonlight  Maids,'  give  a  ball  to-night."  Which 
fact  likewise  explained  the  curl-papers  as  well  as  the 
slattern  shirt-waist,  donned  to  save  the  evening 
bodice  worn  to  the  factory  that  morning  and  now 
tucked  away  in  a  big  box  under  the  table. 

A  whole  side  of  our  pretty  violet-sprinkled  bower 
caved  in  as  a  little  "  turner-in  "  lurched  against  it  in 
passing  with  a  top-heavy  column  of  boxes.  Through 
the  opening  daylight  is  visible  once  more,  and  from 
the  region  of  the  machines  is  heard  a  chorus  of  voices 
singing  "  The  Fatal  Wedding." 

"  Hot  a — i — r !  "  Phoebe  intones  derisively.  44  It 's 
a  wonder  Angelina  would  n't  get  a  new  song.  Them 
strippers  sing  that  4  Fatal  Wedding '  week  in  and 
week  out." 

We  worked  steadily,  and  as  the  hours  dragged  on 
I  began  to  grow  dead  tired.  The  awful  noise  and 
confusion,  the  terrific  heat,  the  foul  smell  of  the  glue, 
and  the  agony  of  breaking  ankles  and  blistered  hands 
seemed  almost  unendurable. 

71 


THE  LONG  DAY 


At  last  the  hour-hand  stood  at  twelve,  and  sud- 
denly, out  of  the  turmoil,  a  strange  quiet  fell  over  the 
great  mill.  The  vibrations  that  had  shaken  the  whole 
structure  to  its  very  foundations  now  gradually  sub- 
sided ;  the  wheels  stayed  their  endless  revolutions ; 
the  flying  belts  now  hung  from  the  ceiling  like  long 
black  ribbons.  Out  of  the  stillness  girl-voices  and 
girl-laughter  echoed  weirdly,  like  a  horn  blown  in  a 
dream,  while  sweeter  and  clearer  than  ever  rang 
Phcebe's  soprano  "  Hot  air !  " 

The  girls  lunched  in  groups  of  ten  and  twelve. 
Each  clique  had  its  leader.  By  an  unwritten  law  I 
was  included  among  those  who  rallied  around  Phoebe, 
most  of  whom  she  had  "  learned  99  at  some  time  or 
other,  as  she  was  now  "  learning  "  me.  The  lunch- 
eons were  divested  of  their  newspaper  wrappings  and 
spread  over  the  ends  of  tables,  on  discarded  box-lids 
held  across  the  knees — in  fact,  any  place  conven- 
ience or  sociability  dictated.  Then  followed  a 
friendly  exchange  of  pickles  and  cake.  A  dark, 
swarthy  girl,  whom  they  called  "  Goldy "  Court- 
leigh,  was  generous  in  the  distribution  of  the  luke- 
warm contents  of  a  broken-nosed  tea-pot,  which  was 
constantly  replenished  by  application  to  the  hot- 
water  faucet. 

Although  we  had  a  half -hour,  luncheon  was  swal- 
72 


THE  LONG  DAY 


lowed  quickly  by  most  of  the  girls,  eager  to  steal 
away  to  a  sequestered  bower  among  the  boxes,  there 
to  lose  themselves  in  paper-backed  romance.  A  few 
of  less  literary  taste  were  content  to  nibble  ice-cream 
sandwiches  and  gossip.  Dress,  the  inevitable  mas- 
querade ball,  murders  and  fires,  were  favorite  topics 
of  discussion, — the  last  always  with  lowered  voices 
and  deep-drawn  breathing.  For  fire  is  the  box- 
maker's  terror,  the  grim  specter  that  always  haunts 
her,  and  with  good  reason  does  she  always  start  at 
the  word. 

"  I 'm  always  afraid,"  declared  Phoebe,  "  and  I  al- 
ways run  to  the  window  and  get  ready  to  jump  the 
minute  I  hear  the  alarm." 

"  I  don't,"  mused  Angelina ;  "  I  have  n't  sense 
enough  to  jump.  I  faint  dead  away.  There 'd  be 
no  chance  for  me  if  a  fire  ever  broke  out  here." 

Once  or  twice  there  was  mention  of  beaux  and 
"  steady  fellows,"  but  the  flesh-and-blood  man  of 
every-day  life  did  not  receive  as  much  attention  in 
this  lunch  chat  as  did  the  heroes  of  the  story-books. 

While  it  was  evident,  of  course,  from  scattered 
comments  that  box-makers  are  constantly  marrying, 
it  was  likewise  apparent  that  they  have  not  sufficient 
imagination  to  invest  their  hard-working,  sweat- 
grimed  sweethearts  with  any  halo  of  romance. 

73 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Promptly  at  half-past  twelve  the  awakening  ma- 
chinery called  us  back  to  the  workaday  world.  Story- 
books were  tucked  away,  and  their  entranced  readers 
dragged  themselves  back  to  the  machines  and  steam- 
ing paste-pots,  to  dream  and  to  talk  as  they  worked, 
not  of  their  own  fellows  of  last  night's  masquerade, 
but  of  bankers  and  mill-owners  who  in  fiction  have 
wooed  and  won  and  honorably  wedded  just  such  poor 
toilers  as  they  themselves. 


74 


VI 


IN  WHICH  PHCEBE  AND  MRS.  SMITH  HOLD  FORTH 
UPON   MUSIC   AND  LITERATURE 

DON'T  you  never  read  no  story-books  ?  " 
|  Mrs.  Smith  asked,  stirring  the  paste-pot 
preparatory  to  the  afternoon's  work.  She 
looked  at  me  curiously  out  of  her  shrewd,  snapping 
dark  eyes  as  she  awaited  my  answer.  I  was  con- 
scious that  Mrs.  Smith  did  n't  like  me  for  some 
reason  or  other,  and  I  was  anxious  to  propitiate  her. 
I  was  pretty  certain  she  thought  me  a  boresome  prig, 
and  I  determined  I 'd  prove  I  was  n't.  My  confes- 
sion of  an  omnivorous  appetite  for  all  sorts  of  story- 
books had  the  desired  effect;  and  when  I  confessed 
further,  that  I  liked  best  of  all  a  real,  tender,  senti- 
mental love-story,  she  asked  amiably : 

"  How  do  you  like  '  Little  Rosebud's  Lovers  '?  " 
"  I 've  never  read  that,"  I  replied.    "  Is  it  good?  " 
"  It  's  fine,"  interposed   Phoebe ;  "  but   I  like 
6  Woven  on  Fate's  Loom  '  better — don't  you?  "  The 
last  addressed  to  Mrs.  Smith. 

75 


THE  LONG  DAY 

"  No,  I  can't  say  as  that 's  my  impinion,"  returned 
our  vis-a-vis,  with  a  judicious  tipping  of  the  head  to 
one  side  as  she  soused  her  dripping  paste-brush  over 
the  strips.  "  Not  but  what  '  Woven  on  Fate's 
Loom  '  is  a  good  story  in  its  way,  either,  for  them 
that  likes  that  sort  of  story.  But  I  think  4  Little 
Rosebud's  Lovers  '  is  more  interesting,  besides  being 
better  wrote." 

"  And  that 's  just  what  I  don't  like  about  it,"  re- 
torted Phoebe,  her  fingers  traveling  like  lightning  up 
and  down  the  corners  of  the  boxes.  "  You  like  this 
hot-air  talk,  and  I  don't ;  and  the  way  them  fellows 
and  girls  shoot  hot-air  at  each  other  in  that  there 
6  Little  Rosebud's  Lovers  '  is  enough  to  beat  the 
street-cars !  " 

"  What  is  it  about?  "  I  askeS  with  respectful  in- 
terest, addressing  the  question  to  Mrs.  Smith,  who 
gave  promise  of  being  a  more  serious  reviewer  than 
the  flippant  Phoebe.  Mrs.  Smith  took  a  bite  of  gin- 
gerbread and  began : 

"  It  's  about  a  fair,  beautiful  young  girl  by  the 
name  of  Rosebud  Arden.  Her  pa  was  a  judge,  and 
they  lived  in  a  grand  mansion  in  South  Car'lina. 
Little  Rosebud — that 's  what  everybody  called  her — 
had  a  stepsister  Maud.  They  was  both  beauties, 
only  Maud  did  n't  have  a  lovely  disposition  like  Lit- 

76 


THE  LONG  DAY 

tie  Rosebud.  A  Harvard  gradjate  by  the  name  of 
Percy  Fielding  got  stuck  on  Little  Rosebud  for  the 
wealth  she  was  to  get  from  her  pa,  and  she  was  ter- 
rible stuck  on  him.  She  was  stuck  on  him  for  fair, 
though  not  knowing  he  was  a  villian  of  the  deepest 
dye.  That 's  what  the  book  called  him.  He  talked 
her  into  marrying  him  clandestinely.  Maud  and  her 
mother  put  up  a  job  to  get  rid  of  Little  Rosebud,  so 
Maud  could  get  all  the  money.  So  they  told  lies  to 
her  pa,  who  loved  her  something  awful;  and  one 
night,  when  she  came  in  after  walking  in  the  grand 
garden  with  her  husband,  who  nobody  knew  she  was 
married  to,  she  found  herself  locked  out.  Then  she 
went  to  the  hotel  where  he  was  staying,  and  told  him 
what  had  happened;  but  he  turned  her  down  flat 
when  he  heard  it,  for  he  did  n't  want  nothing  to  do 
with  her  when  she  was  n't  to  get  her  pa's  money ;  and 
then-" 

She  stopped  her  cornering  to  inspect  my  work, 
which  had  not  nagged  an  instant.  Mrs.  Smith  took 
another  bite  of  gingerbread,  and  continued  with  in- 
creasing animation : 

"  And  then  Little  Rosebud  turned  away  into  the 
night  with  a  low  cry,  just  as  if  a  dagger  had  been 
punched  into  her  heart  and  turned  around  slow.  She 
was  only  sixteen  years  old,  and  she  had  been  brought 

77 


THE  LONG  DAY 


up  in  luxury  and  idolized  by  her  father;  and  all  of  a 
sudden  she  found  herself  homeless,  with  nowiieres  to 
sleep  and  no  money  to  get  a  room  at  the  hotel,  and 
scorned  by  the  man  that  had  sworn  to  protect  her. 
Her  pa  had  cursed  her,  too,  something  awful,  so  that 
he  burst  a  blood-vessel  a  little  while  afterwards  and 
died  before  morning.  Only  Little  Rosebud  never 
found  this  out,  for  she  took  the  midnight  express  and 
came  up  here  to  New  York,  where  her  aunt  lived, 
only  she  did  n't  know  the  street-number." 

"  Where  did  she  get  the  money  to  come  to  New 
York  with  ? "  interrupted  the  practical  Phoebe. 
"  That  's  something  I  don't  understand.  If  she 
did  n't  have  no  money  to  hire  a  room  at  a  hotel  down 
in  South  Carolina  for  overnight,  I  'd  like  to  know 
where  she  got  money  for  a  railroad  ticket." 

"  Well,  that  's  just  all  you  know  about  them 
swells,"  retorted  Mrs.  Smith.  "  I  suppose  a  rich 
man's  daughter  like  that  can  travel  around  all  over 
the  country  on  a  pass.  And  saying  she  did  n't  have 
a  pass,  it 's  only  a  story  and  not  true  anyway. 

"  She  met  a  fellow  on  the  train  that  night  who  was 
a  villian  for  fair!  "  she  went  on.  "  His  name  was 
Mr.  Paul  Howard,  and  he  was  a  corker.  Little  Rose- 
bud, who  was  just  as  innocent  as  they  make  'em,  fell 
right  into  his  clutches.    He  was  a  terrible  man ;  he 

78 


THE  LONG  DAY 

would  n't  stop  at  nothing,  but  he  was  a  very  elegant- 
looking  gentleman  that  you 'd  take  anywheres  for  a 
banker  or  'Piscopalian  preacher.  He  tipped  his  hat 
to  Little  Rosebud,  and  then  she  up  and«asked  if  he 
knew  where  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Waldron,  lived.  This 
was  nuts  for  him,  and  he  said  yes,  that  Mrs.  Waldron 
was  a  particular  lady-friend  of  his.  When  they 
got  to  New  York  he  offered  to  take  Little  Rosebud 
to  her  aunt's  house.  And  as  Little  Rosebud  had  n't 
no  money,  she  said  yes,  and  the  villian  called  a  cab 
and  they  started  for  Brooklyn,  him  laughing  to 
himself  all  the  time,  thinking  how  easily  she  was 
going  to  tumble  into  the  trap  he  was  getting  fixed 
for  her." 

"  Hot  air !  "  murmured  Phoebe. 

"  But  while  they  were  rattling  over  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  another  man  was  following  them  in  another 
cab — a  Wall-street  broker  with  barrels  of  cash.  He 
was  Raymond  Leslie,  and  a  real  good  man.  He  'd 
seen  Rosebud  get  into  the  cab  with  Paul  Howard, 
who  he  knew  for  a  villian  for  fair.  They  had  a  ter- 
rible rumpus,  but  Raymond  Leslie  rescued  her  and 
took  her  to  her  aunt's  house.  It  turned  out  that  he 
was  the  gentleman-friend  of  Little  Rosebud's  cousin 
Ida,  the  very  place  they  were  going  to.  But,  riding 
along  in  the  cab,  he  fell  in  love  with  Little  Rosebud, 

79 


THE  LONG  DAY 

and  then  he  was  in  a  terrible  pickle  because  he  was 
promised  to  Ida.  Little  Rosebud's  relations  lived 
real  grand,  and  her  aunt  was  real  nice  to  her  until  she 
saw  she  had  hooked  on  to  Ida's  gentleman-friend ; 
then  they  put  her  to  work  in  the  kitchen  and  treated 
her  terrible.  Oh,  I  tell  you  she  had  a  time  of  it,  for 
fair.  Her  aunt  was  awful  proud  and  wicked,  and 
after  while,  when  she  found  that  Raymond  Leslie  was 
going  to  marry  Little  Rosebud  even  if  they  did  make 
a  servant  of  her,  she  hired  Paul  Howard  to  drug  her 
and  carry  her  off  to  an  insane-asylum  that  he  ran  up 
in  Westchester  County.  It  was  in  a  lonesome  place, 
and  was  full  of  girls  that  he  had  loved  only  to  grow 
tired  of  and  cast  off,  and  this  was  the  easiest  way  to 
get  rid  of  them  and  keep  them  from  spoiling  his 
sport.  Once  a  girl  was  in  love  with  Paul  Howard, 
she  loved  him  till  death.  He  just  fascinated  women 
like  a  snake  does  a  bird,  and  he  was  hot  stuff  as  long 
as  he  lasted,  but  the  minute  he  got  tired  of  you  he 
was  a  demon  of  cruelty. 

"  He  did  everything  he  could,  when  he  got  Little 
Rosebud  here,  to  get  her  under  his  power.  He  tried 
his  dirty  best  to  poison  her  food,  but  Little  Rosebud 
was  foxy  and  would  n't  touch  a  bite  of  anything,  but 
just  sat  in  her  cell  and  watched  the  broiled  chicken 
and  fried  oysters,  and  all  the  other  good  things  they 

80 


THE  LONG  DAY 


sent  to  tempt  her,  turn  to  a  dark-purplish  hue.  One 
night  she  escaped  disguised  in  the  turnkey's  daugh- 
ter's dress.  Her  name  was  Dora  Gray,  and  Paul 
Howard  had  blasted  her  life  too,  but  she  worshiped 
him  something  awful,  all  the  same-ee.  Dora  Gray 
gave  Little  Rosebud  a  lovely  dark-red  rose  that  was 
soaked  with  deadly  poison,  so  that  if  you  touched  it 
to  the  lips  of  a  person,  the  person  would  drop  dead. 
She  told  Little  Rosebud  to  protect  herself  with  it  if 
they  chased  her.  But  she  did  n't  get  a  chance  to  see 
whether  it  would  work  or  not,  for  when  she  heard 
them  coming  back  of  her  after  while  with  the  blood- 
hounds barking,  she  dropped  with  terror  down  flat 
on  her  stummick.  She  had  suffered  so  much  she 
could  n't  stand  anything  more.  The  doctors  said 
she  was  dead  when  they  picked  her  up,  and  they 
buried  her  and  stuck  a  little  white  slab  on  her  grave, 
with  6  Rosebud,  aged  sixteen  '  on  it." 

"  Hot  air !  "  from  the  irrepressible  Phoebe. 

I  felt  that  courtesy  required  I  should  agree  upon 
that  point,  and  I  did  so,  conservatively,  venturing  to 
ask  the  name  of  the  author. 

Mrs.  Smith  mentioned  the  name  of  a  well-known 
writer  of  trashy  fiction  and  added,  "  Did  n't  you 
never  read  none  of  her  books  ?  " 

My  negative  surprised  her.    Then  Phoebe  asked : 

6  81 


I 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Did  you  ever  read  4  Daphne  Vernon ;  or,  A 
Coronet  of  Shame  '  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  n't  read  them,  either,"  I  replied. 

"  Oh,  mama !  Carry  me  out  and  let  me  die !  " 
groaned  Mrs.  Smith,  throwing  down  her  paste-brush 
and  falling  forward  in  mock  agony  upon  the  smeared 
table. 

"  Water !  Water !  "  gasped  Phoebe,  clutching 
wildly  at  her  throat ;  "  I 'm  going  to  faint ! 99 

"What  9s  the  matter?  What  did  I  say  that 
was  n't  right  ?  "  I  cried,  the  nature  of  their  antics 
showing  only  too  plainly  that  I  had  "  put  my  foot  in 
it  "  in  some  unaccountable  manner.  But  they  paid 
no  attention.  Mortified  and  utterly  at  sea,  I  watched 
their  convulsed  shoulders  and  heard  their  smothered 
giggles.  Then  in  a  few  minutes  they  straightened 
up  and  resumed  work  with  the  utmost  gravity  of 
countenance  and  without  a  word  of  explanation. 

"  What  was  it  you  was  asting?  99  Phoebe  inquired 
presently,  with  the  most  innocent  air  possible. 

"  I  said  I  had  n't  read  the  books  you  mentioned," 
I  replied,  trying  to  hide  the  chagrin  and  mortifica- 
tion I  felt  at  being  so  ignominiously  laughed  at. 

"  Eyether  of  them?  "  chirped  Mrs.  Smith,  with  a 
vicious  wink. 

82 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Eyether  of  them?  "  warbled  Phcebe  in  her  mock- 
ing-bird soprano. 

It  was  my  turn  to  drop  the  paste-brush  now. 
Eye-ther !  It  must  have  slipped  from  my  tongue  un- 
consciously. I  could  not  remember  having  ever  pro- 
nounced the  word  like  that  before. 

I  did  n't  feel  equal,  then  and  there,  to  offering 
them  any  explanation  or  apologies  for  the  offense. 
So  I  simply  answered : 

"  No ;  are  they  very  good  ?  are  they  as  good  as 
6  Little  Rosebud's  Lovers  '?  " 

"  No,  it  ain't,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  decisively  and  a 
little  contemptuously ;  "  and  it  ain't  two  books, 
eye-ther;  it  's  all  in  one — 6  Daphne  Vernon;  or,  A 
Coronet  of  Shame.'  " 

"  Well,  now  I  think  it  is,"  put  in  Phoebe.  "  Them 
stories  with  two-handled  names  is  nearly  always 
good.  I  '11  buy  a  book  with  a  two-handled  name 
every  time  before  I  '11  buy  one  that  ain't.  I  was 
reading  a  good  one  last  night  that  I  borrowed  from 
Gladys  Carringford.  It  had  three  handles  to  its 
name,  and  they  was  all  corkers." 

"  Why  don't  you  spit  'em  out?  "  suggested  Mrs. 
Smith.    "  Tell  us  what  it  was." 

"  Well,  it  was  6  Doris ;  or,  The  Pride  of  Pember- 
83 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ton  Mills ;  or,  Lost  in  a  Fearful  Fate's  Abyss.' 
What  d'  ye  think  of  that?  " 

"  It  sounds  very  int'r^ing.    Who  wrote  it?  " 

"  Charles  Garvice,"  replied  Phoebe.  Did  n't  you 
ever  read  none  of  his,  e — y — e — ther?  " 

"  No,  I  must  say  I  never  did,"  I  answered,  ignor- 
ing their  mischievous  raillery  with  as  much  grace  as 
I  could  summon,  but  taking  care  to  choose  my  words 
so  as  to  avoid  further  pitfalls. 

"  And  did  you  never  read  none  of  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme's?"  drawled  Mrs.  Smith,  with  remorseless 
cruelty — "  none  of  Charlotte  M.  Braeme's,  eye- 
ther?" 

"  No." 

"  Nor  none  by  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands,  e — y — e- 
ther?  "  still  persisted  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  No ;  none  by  her." 

"E — y — e — ther!"  Both  my  tormentors  now 
raised  their  singing-voices  into  a  high,  clear,  full- 
blown note  of  derisive  music,  held  it, for  a  brief  mo- 
ment at  a  dizzy  altitude,  and  then  in  soft,  long- 
drawn-out  cadences  returned  to  earth  and  speaking- 
voices  again. 

"  What  kind  of  story-books  do  you  read,  then  ?  " 
they  demanded.  To  which  I  replied  with  the  names 
of  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  simple,  every-day  classics 

84 


THE  LONG  DAY 

that  the  school-boy  and  -girl  are  supposed  to  have 
read.  They  had  never  heard  of  "  David  Copper- 
field  "  or  of  Dickens.  Nor  had  they  ever  heard  of 
"  Gulliver's  Travels,"  nor  of  "  The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field." They  had  heard  the  name  "  Robinson  Cru- 
soe," but  they  did  not  know  it  was  the  name  of  an 
entrancing  romance.  "  Little  Women,"  "  John 
Halifax,  Gentleman,"  "  The  Cloister  and  the 
Hearth,"  "  Les  Miserables,"  were  also  unknown,  un- 
heard-of literary  treasures.  They  were  equally  ig- 
norant of  the  existence  of  the  conventional  Sunday- 
school  romance.  They  stared  at  me  in  amazement 
when  I  rattled  off  a  heterogeneous  assortment  from 
the  fecund  pens  of  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney,  "  Pan- 
sy," Amanda  M.  Douglas,  and  similar  good-goody 
writers  for  good-goody  girls ;  their  only  remarks 
being  that  their  "titles  did  n't  sound  interesting.  I 
spoke  enthusiastically  of  "  Little  Women,"  telling 
them  how  I  had  read  it  four  times,  and  that  I  meant 
to  read  it  again  some  day.  Their  curiosity  was 
aroused  over  the  unheard-of  thing  of  anybody  ever 
wanting  to  read  any  book  more  than  once,  and  they 
pressed  me  to  reciprocate  by  repeating  the  story  for 
them,  which  I  did  with  great  accuracy  of  statement, 
and  with  genuine  pleasure  to  myself  at  being  given 
an  opportunity  to  introduce  anybody  to  Meg  and 

85 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Jo  and  all  the  rest  of  that  delightful  March  family. 
When  I  had  finished,  Phoebe  stopped  her  cornering 
and  Mrs.  Smith  looked  up  from  her  label-pasting. 

"  Why,  that 's  no  story  at  all,"  the  latter  declared. 

"  Why,  no,"  echoed  Phoebe;  "  that 's  no  story — 
that  's  just  everyday  happenings.  I  don't  see 
what  's  the  use  putting  things  like  that  in  books. 
I  '11  bet  any  money  that  lady  what  wrote  it  knew  all 
them  boys  and  girls.  They  just  sound  like  real,  live 
people;  and  when  you  was  telling  about  them  I 
could  just  see  them  as  plain  as  plain  could  be — 
could  n't  you,  Gwendolyn?  " 

"  Yep,"  yawned  our  vis-a-vis,  undisguisedly  bored. 

"  But  I  suppose  farmer  folks  likes  them  kind  of 
stories,"  Phoebe  generously  suggested.  "  They  ain't 
used  to  the  same  styles  of  anything  that  us  city  folks 
are." 

While  we  had  been  trying  to  forget  our  tired 
limbs  in  a  discussion  of  literary  tastes  and  standards, 
our  workmates  had  been  relieving  the  treadmill  te- 
dium of  the  long  afternoon  by  various  expedients. 
The  quartet  at  the  table  immediately  in  front  of  us 
had  been  making  inane  doggerel  rhymes  upon  the 
names  of  their  workmates,  telling  riddles,  and  ex- 
changing nasty  stories  with  great  gusto  and  fre- 
quent fits  of  wild  laughter.    At  another  table  the 

86 


THE  LONG  DAY 


forthcoming  ball  of  the  "  Moonlight  Maids  99  was 
under  hot  discussion,  and  at  a  very  long  table  in  front 
of  the  elevator  they  were  talking  in  subdued  voices 
about  dreams  and  omens,  making  frequent  reference 
to  a  greasy  volume  styled  "  The  Lucky  Dream 
Book." 

Far  over,  under  the  windows,  the  stripper  girls 
were  tuning  up  their  voices  preparatory  to  the  late- 
afternoon  concert,  soon  to  begin.  They  hummed  a 
few  bars  of  one  melody,  then  of  another ;  and  at  last, 
Angela's  voice  leading,  there  burst  upon  the  room  in 
full  chorus,  to  the  rhythmic  whir  of  the  wheels,  the 
melodious  music  and  maudlin  stanzas  of  "  The  Fatal 
Wedding." 

Phoebe  lent  her  flute-like  soprano  to  the  next  song, 
the  rather  pretty  melody  of  which  was  not  sufficient 
to  redeem  the  banality  of  the  words : 

"  The  scene  is  a  banquet  where  beauty  and  wealth 
Have  gathered  in  splendid  array ; 
But  silent  and  sad  is  a  fair  woman  there, 
Whose  young  heart  is  pining  away. 

"  A  card  is  brought  to  her — she  reads  there  a  name 
Of  one  that  she  loved  long  ago ; 
Then  sadly  she  whispers,  '  Just  say  I  'm  not  here, 
For  my  story  he  never  must  know. ' 

87 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  That  night  in  the  banquet  at  Misery  Hall 
She  reigned  like  a  queen  on  a  throne ; 
But  often  the  tears  filled  her  beautiful  eyes 
As  she  dreamed  of  the  love  she  had  known. 

"  Her  thoughts  flowed  along  through  the  laughter 
and  song 
To  the  days  she  could  never  recall, 
And  she  longed  to  find  rest  on  her  dear  mother's 
breast 

At  the  banquet  in  Misery  Hall. 

"  The  time  passes  quickly,  and  few  in  the  throng 
Have  noticed  the  one  vacant  chair — 
Till  out  of  the  beautiful  garden  beyond 
A  pistol-shot  rings  on  the  air. 

"  Now  see,  in  the  moonlight  a  handsome  youth  lays — 
Too  quickly  his  life  doth  depart ; 
While  kneeling  beside  him,  the  woman  he 'd  loved 
Finds  her  picture  is  close  to  his  heart." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  that  song?  "  I  asked  when 
the  last  cadence  of  Phoebe's  voice,  which  was  sus- 
tained long  after  every  other  in  the  room  was  hushed, 
had  died  away. 

"That!  Why,  it  's  <  The  Banquet  in  Misery 
Hall,'  "  answered  Mrs.  Smith,  somewhat  impatient 
of  my  unfolding  ignorance.  But  I  speedily  forgot 
the  rebuke  in  a  lively  interest  in  the  songs  that  f ol- 

88 


THE  LONG  DAY 


lowed  one  another  without  interlude.  Phoebe  was 
counting  her  pile  of  boxes  and  ranging  them  into 
piles  of  twelve  high;  so  she  could  n't  sing,  and  I, 
consequently,  could  not  catch  all  the  words  of  each 
song.  The  theme  in  every  case  was  a  more  or  less 
ungrammatical,  crude,  and  utterly  banal  rendition 
of  the  claptrap  morality  exploited  in  the  cheap 
story-books.  Reduced  to  the  last  analysis,  they  had 
to  do  with  but  one  subject — the  frailty  of  woman. 
On  the  one  side  was  presented  Virtue  tempted,  be- 
trayed, repentant ;  on  the  other  side,  Virtue  fighting 
at  bay,  persecuted,  scourged,  but  emerging  in  the 
end  unspotted  and  victorious,  with  all  good  things 
added  unto  it. 

It  was  to  me  an  entirely  new  way  of  looking  at 
life ;  and  though  I  could  n't  in  the  least  explain  it  to 
myself,  it  seemed,  to  my  unsophisticated  way  of  look- 
ing at  such  matters,  that  the  propensity  to  break  the 
seventh  commandment  was  much  exaggerated,  and 
that  songs  about  other  subjects  would  have  been 
much  more  interesting  and  not  nearly  so  trying  to 
the  feelings.  For  the  sweet  voices  of  the  singers 
could  not  but  make  the  tears  come  to  my  eyes,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  burden  of  the  song  seemed 
so  unworthy. 

"  You  all  sing  so  beautifully !  "  I  cried,  in  honest 
89 


THE  LONG  DAY 


admiration,  at  the  close  of  one  particularly  melodious 
and  extremely  silly  ditty.  "  Where  did  you  learn  ?  99 
Phcebe  was  pleased  at  the  compliment  implied  by 
the  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  even  Mrs.  Smith  forgot  to 
throw  out  her  taunting  "  eye-ther  99  as  she  stood  still 
and  regarded  my  very  frank  and  unconcealed  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  guess  we  sort  of  learn  from  the  Ginney  girls," 
explained  Phcebe.  "  Them  Ginneys  is  all  nice  sing- 
ers, and  everybody  in  the  shop  kind  of  gets  into  the 
way  of  singing  good,  too,  from  being  with  them. 
You  ought  to  hear  them  sing  Dago  songs,  ought  n't 
she,  Gwendolyn?  " 

"Yep,"  answered  Gwendolyn;  "I  could  just  die 
hearing  Angela  and  Celie  Polatta  singing  that — 
what-d'ye-call-it,  that  always  makes  a  body  bu'st 
out  crying?  99 

"  You  mean  '  Punchinello.'  Yep,  that  's  a 
corker ;  but,  Lord !  the  one  what  makes  me  have  all 
kinds  of  funny  cold  feelings  run  up  my  back  is  that 
6  Ave  Maria.'  Therese  Nicora  taught  them — what 
she  says  she  learned  in  the  old  country.  I  would  n't 
want  anything  to  eat  if  I  could  hear  songs  like  that 
all  the  time." 

The  clock-hands  over  Annie  Kinzer's  desk  had 
now  crept  close  to  the  hour  of  six,  and  Angela  had 
only  begun  the  first  stanza  of — 

90 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Papa,  tell  me  where  is  mama,"  cried  a  little  girl  one 
day; 

"  I  'm  so  lonesome  here  without  her,  tell  me  why  she 
went  away. 

You  don't  know  how  much  I  'm  longing  for  her 

loving  good-night  kiss  !  ' ' 
Papa  placed  his  arms  around  her  as  he  softly  whispered 

this : 


"  Down  in  the  City  of  Sighs  and  Tears,  under  the 
white  light's  glare, 
Down  in  the  City  of  Wasted  Years,  you  '11  find  your 
mama  there, 

Wandering  along  where  each  smiling  face  hides  its 

story  of  lost  careers ; 
And  perhaps  she  is  dreaming  of  you  to-night,  in  the 

City  of  Sighs  and  Tears." 


The  machinery  gave  a  ponderous  throb,  the  great 
black  belts  sagged  and  fell  inert,  the  wheels  whirred 
listlessly,  clocks  all  over  the  great  city  began  to  toll 
for  one  more  long  day  ended  and  gone,  while  the 
voices  of  the  girl  toilers  rose  superbly  and  filled  the 
gathering  stillness  with  the  soft  crescendo  refrain : 

1 '  Wandering  along  where  each  smiling  face  hides  its 

story  of  lost  careers ; 
And  perhaps  she  is  dreaming  of  you  to-night,  in  the 

City  of  Sighs  and  Tears — 
In  the  City  of  Sighs  and  Tears." 

91 


VII 


IN  WHICH  I  ACQUIRE  A  STORY-BOOK  NAME  AND 
MAKE  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  MISS 
HENRIETTA  MANNERS 

BEFORE  entering  upon  my  second  day's  work 
at  the  box-factory,  and  before  detailing  any 
of  the  strange  things  which  that  day 
brought  forth,  I  feel  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  give 
some  word  of  explanation  as  to  my  whereabouts  dur- 
ing the  intervening  night.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  when  I  left  the  factory  at  the  end  of  the  first 
day,  I  had  neither  a  lodging  nor  a  trunk.  I  will  not 
dwell  upon  the  state  of  my  feelings  when  I  walked 
out  of  Thompson  Street  in  the  consciousness  that  if 
I  had  been  friendless  and  homeless  before,  I  was  in- 
finitely more  so  now.  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  ache 
in  my  heart  when  my  thoughts  traveled  toward  the 
pile  of  ruins  in  Fourteenth  Street,  with  the  realiza- 
tion of  my  helplessness,  my  sheer  inability  even  to  at- 
tempt to  do  a  one  last  humble  little  act  of  love  and 
gratitude  for  the  dead  woman  who  had  been  truly 
my  friend. 

92 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Briefly  stated,  the  facts  are  these :  I  had,  all  told, 
one  dollar,  and  I  walked  from  Thompson  Street 
straight  to  the  Jefferson  Market  police-station,  which 
was  not  a  great  distance  away.  I  stated  my  case  to 
the  matron,  a  kindly  Irishwoman.  I  was  afraid  to 
start  out  so  late  in  the  evening  to  look  for  a  lodging 
for  the  night.  I  would  have  thought  nothing  of 
such  a  thing  a  few  weeks  previous,  but  the  knowledge 
of  life  which  I  had  gained  in  my  brief  residence  in 
Fourteenth  Street  and  from  the  advice  of  Mrs.  Prin- 
gle  had  showed  me  the  danger  that  lurked  in  such  a 
course.  The  police  matron  said  my  fears  were  well 
founded,  and  she  gave  me  the  address  of  a  working- 
girls'  home  over  on  the  East  Side,  which  she  said 
was  not  the  pleasantest  place  in  the  world  for  a  well- 
brought-up  girl  of  refinement  and  intelligence,  such 
as  she  took  me  to  be,  but  was  cheap,  and  in  which  I 
would  be  sure  of  the  protection  which  any  young,  in- 
experienced woman  without  money  needs  so  badly  in 
this  wicked  city.  She  wrote  down  the  address  for 
me,  and  I  had  started  to  the  door  of  her  little  office 
when  her  motherly  eye  noticed  how  fagged  out  and 
lame  I  was — and  indeed  I  could  scarcely  stand — 
and  with  a  wave  of  her  plump  arm  she  brought  me 
back  to  her  desk. 

"Why  don't  you  stay  here  with  me  to-night?" 
93 


THE  LONG  DAY 


she  asked.  "  You  need  n't  mind ;  and  if  I  was  you  I 
would  do  it  and  save  my  pennies  and  my  tired  legs. 
You  can  have  a  bite  of  supper  with  me,  and  then 
bundle  right  off  to  bed.  You  look  clean  tuckered 
out." 

So  to  my  fast-growing  list  of  startling  experi-f 
ences  I  added  a  night  in  the  station-house;  but  a 
very  quiet,  uneventful  night  it  was,  because  the  ma- 
tron tucked  me  away  in  her  own  little  room.  That  is, 
it  was  quiet  and  uneventful  so  far  as  my  surround- 
ings were  concerned,  though  I  slept  little  on  account 
of  my  aching  bones.  All  night  I  tossed,  pain-racked 
and  discouraged ;  for,  after  all  the  long,  hard  day's 
work  of  the  day  before,  Phoebe's  card  had  only 
checked  one  dollar  and  five  cents,  which  represented 
two  persons'  work.  Such  being  the  case,  how  could 
I  expect  to  grow  sufficiently  skilful  and  expeditious 
to  earn  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  in  the 
brief  apprenticeship  I  had  looked  forward  to?  Un- 
able to  sleep,  I  was  up  an  hour  earlier  than  usual, 
and  after  I  had  breakfasted — again  by  the  courtesy 
of  the  matron — I  was  off  to  work  long  before  the 
working-day  began. 

I  had  thought  to  be  the  first  arrival,  but  I  was  not. 
A  girl  was  already  bending  over  her  paste-pot,  and 
the  revelers  of  the  "  Ladies'  Moonlight  Pleasure 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Club  "  came  straggling  in  by  twos  and  threes.  Some 
of  the  weary  dancers  had  dropped  to  sleep,  still  wear- 
ing their  ball-gowns  and  slippers  and  bangles  and 
picture-hats,  their  faces  showing  ghastly  white  and 
drawn  in  the  mote-ridden  sunbeams  that  fell  through 
the  dirty  windows.  Others  were  busy  doffing  Cin- 
derella garments,  which  rites  were  performed  with 
astounding  frankness  in  the  open  spaces  of  the  big 
loft. 

"  Oh,  Henrietta,  you  had  ought  to  been  there," 
Georgiana  gushed,  dropping  her  lace-trimmed  petti- 
coats about  her  feet  and  struggling  to  unhook  her 
corsets.  "  It  was  grand,  but  I 'm  tired  to  death ;  and 
oh,  dear!  I  've  another  blow-out  to-night,  and  the 
4  Clover  Leaf  '  to-morrow  night !  "  With  a  weary 
yawn,  the  society  queen  departed  with  her  finery. 

"  You  did  n't  go  to  the  ball?  99  I  suggested  to  the 
girl  addressed  as  Henrietta,  and  whom  I  now  recalled 
as  one  who  had  worked  frantically  all  the  day  before. 

"  Me  ?  No.  I  don't  believe  in  dancing,"  she  re- 
plied, without  looking  up.  "  Our  church 's  down  on 
it.  I  came  early  to  get  ahead  with  my  order.  You 
can  do  more  work  when  there 's  not  so  many  round." 

Such  strict  conformity  to  her  religious  scruples, 
combined  with  such  pathetic  industry,  seemed  to 
augur  well  for  the  superior  worth  of  this  tall,  blonde, 


THE  LONG  DAY 


blue-eyed  girl.  I  was  anxious  to  make  a  friend  of 
her,  and  accordingly  proffered  my  services  until 
Phoebe  should  come  to  claim  me.  She  accepted 
gladly,  and  for  the  first  time  looked  up  and  re- 
warded me  with  a  smile.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an 
unprepossessing  countenance — despite  rather  good 
features  and  fine  hair — the  most  striking  character- 
istics of  which  were  a  missing  front  tooth  and  lips 
that  hung  loose  and  colorless. 

As  we  worked,  the  conversation  became  cordial. 
She  inquired  my  name,  and  I  repeated  the  plain, 
homely  Scotch-Irish  cognomen  that  had  been  handed 
down  to  me  by  my  forefathers. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  a  pretty  name?  "  she  asked, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  All  the  girls  do  it  when 
they  come  to  the  factory  to  work.  It  don't  cost  no 
more  to  have  a  high-sounding  name." 

Much  interested,  I  protested,  half  in  fun,  that  I 
did  n't  know  any  name  to  take,  and  begged  her  to 
suggest  one.    She  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  last  night,"  she  went  on — "  last  night  I 
was  reading  a  story  about  two  girls  that  was  both 
mashed  on  the  same  feller.  He  was  rich  and  they  was 
poor  and  worked,  and  one  of  them  was  called  4  Rose 
Fortune.'  " 

"  That 's  a  very  pretty  name,"  I  remarked. 
96 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Is  n't  it,  though?  Rose  Fortune — ever  so  much 
prettier  than  jour  own.  Say,  why  don't  you  take 
it,  and  I  '11  begin  calling  you  by  it  right  away." 

"  And  what 's  your  name?  "  I  ventured. 

"Mine?  Oh,  mine  's  Henrietta  Manners;  only," 
she  added  hastily — "  only  that  's  my  real  name.  I 
was  born  with  it.  Now  most  of  the  girls  got  theirs 
out  of  story-books.  Georgiana  Trevelyan  and  Goldy 
Courtleigh  and  Gladys  Carringford  and  Angelina 
Lancaster  and  Phoebe  Arlington — them  girls  all  got 
theirs  out  of  stories.  But  mine  's  my  own.  You 
see,"  and  she  drew  near  that  no  other  ear  might  hear 
the  secret  of  her  proud  birth — "  you  see,  Manners 
was  my  mother's  name,  and  she  ran  away  and  mar- 
ried my  papa  against  her  rich  father's  wishes.  He 
was  a  banker.  I  mean  mama's  papa  was  a  banker, 
but  my  papa  was  only  a  poor  young  gentleman.  So 
grandfather  cut  her  off  without  a  cent  in  his  will, 
but  left  everything  to  me  if  I  would  take  the  name 
of  Manners." 

The  heroine  of  this  strange  romance  stopped  for 
breath,  and  if  I  had  cherished  any  doubts  of  the 
truth  of  her  story  in  the  beginning,  at  least  I  was 
sure  now  that  she  believed  it  all  herself;  one  glance 
into  her  steady  blue  eyes,  in  which  a  telltale  moisture 
was  already  gathering,  was  proof  of  that. 

7  97 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  No,  indeed,"  continued  Miss  Manners ;  "  I 
have  n't  always  been  a  working-girl.  I  used  to  go 
to  boarding-school.  I  thought  I  'd  be  a  governess 
or  something,  and  once  I  tried  to  learn  bookkeeping, 
but  my  eyes  give  out,  and  the  figures  mixed  up  my 
brain  so,  and  then  I  got  sick  and  had  to  come  to  this 
box-factory.  But  I  'm  the  first  Manners  that  ever 
worked." 

I  was  now  thoroughly  ashamed  of  my  first  unjust 
suspicions  that  Henrietta  might  not  be  strictly 
truthful,  and  I  inquired  with  sincere  interest  as  to 
the  fate  of  her  ill-starred  f amity. 

"  All  dead  and  sleeping  in  our  family  vault,"  she 
replied  wistfully.  "  But  don't  let  us  talk  anything 
more  about  it.  I  get  so  worked  up  and  mad  when  I 
talk  about  the  Mannerses  and  the  way  they  treated 
me  and  my  poor  parents !  " 

The  threatened  spell  with  Henrietta's  nerves  was 
averted  by  a  sudden  turning  on  of  the  power,  and 
the  day's  work  began.  Phoebe  did  not  appear  to 
claim  me,  and  I  worked  away  as  fast  as  I  could  to 
help  swell  Henrietta's  dividends. 

"  I  guess  you  can  stay  with  her  the  rest  of  the 
day,"  Annie  Kinzer  said,  stopping  at  the  table.  The 
'  Moonlight  Maids  '  must  have  been  too  much  for 
Phoebe.  "  Guess  she  won't  show  up  to-day." 

98 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Henrietta  was  naturally  delighted  with  the  ar- 
rangement, which  would  add  a  few  pennies  to  her 
earnings.  "  I  only  made  sixty  cents  yesterday,  and 
I  worked  like  a  dog,"  she  remarked.  "  It  was  a  bad 
day  for  everybody.  We  ought  to  make  more  than 
a  dollar  to-day.    Phoebe  says  you  're  a  hustler." 

Our  job  was  that  of  finishing  five  hundred  ruch- 
ing-boxes.  Henrietta  urged  me  frequently  to  hurry, 
as  we  were  away  behind  with  the  order.  I  soon  dis- 
covered that  for  all  her  Manners  blood  and  alleged 
gentle  breeding,  she  was  a  harder  taskmaster  than 
the  good-natured  but  plebeian  Phcebe.  Her  obvious 
greed  for  every  moment  of  my  time,  for  every  pos- 
sible effort  of  my  strength  and  energy,  I  gladly  ex- 
cused, however,  when  she  revealed  the  fact  that  all 
her  surplus  earnings  went  toward  the  support  of  a 
certain  mission  Sunday-school  in  which  she  was  a 
teacher.  The  conversation  drifted  from  church 
matters  to  my  own  personal  affairs. 

"  Is  n't  it  awful  lonesome  living  alone  in  a  room?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  I  lived  in  a  room?  "  I  in- 
quired in  surprise,  with  the  uncomfortable  feeling 
that  I  had  been  the  subject  of  ill-natured  gossip. 

"  Oh,  Annie  Kinzer  told  me.  Say,  I  would  n't 
tell  her  anything  about  my  affairs.  She 's  an  awful 
clack." 

99 


THE  LONG  DAY 


We  were  silent  for  a  moment,  while  I  wondered  if 
Henrietta,  if  Annie  Kinzer,  if  any  girl  in  all  the 
world  could  ever  guess  how  lonely  I  had  been  every 
moment  since  I  had  come  to  this  great  city  to  work 
and  to  live.    Then  came  the  unexpected. 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  come  and  room  with  me?  99 

"  With  you  ?  99   I  was  half  pleased,  half  doubtful. 

"  Yes.    I 've  got  plenty  of  room." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  n't  afford  it." 

"  Yes,  you  can.  I  don't  put  on  style.  It  won't 
cost  us  more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week  for 
each — rent,  eating,  and  everything  else.  I  was 
thinking,  as  you  're  a  learner,  it  will  be  a  long  time 
before  you  can  make  much,  and  you 'd  be  glad  to  go 
halvers  with  somebody.  Two  can  always  live  cheaper 
than  one." 

A  dollar  and  a  half  a  week!  That  was  indeed 
cheaper  than  I  had  been  living.  I  had  something 
less  than  two  dollars  in  my  purse,  and  pay-day,  for 
me,  was  still  a  week  off. 

And  so  I  accepted  the  proposition,  and  by  lunch- 
time  the  news  was  all  over  the  factory  that  the  new 
girl  was  to  be  Henrietta's  room-mate.  Annie  Kin- 
zer— everybody,  in  fact — approved,  except,  possibly, 
Emma.  Emma  was  a  homely,  plainly  dressed  girl 
who  had  worked  ten  years  here  at  Springer's.  She 

100 


THE  LONG  DAY 


bore  the  reputation  of  being  a  prudey  and  a  kill-joy. 
Thus  far  she  had  never  deigned  to  look  at  me,  but 
now  she  took  occasion  to  pass  the  time  of  day  when 
we  met  at  the  water-faucet,  and  asked,  in  a  doubtful 
tone,  how  long  I  had  known  Henrietta  Manners. 

Meanwhile  we  "  cornered  "  and  "  tissued  "  and 
"  laced  "  and  "  labeled."  Higher  and  higher  grew 
our  pasteboard  castle,  which  we  built  as  children  pile 
up  brightly  colored  blocks.  At  eleven  Henrietta 
sent  me  below  for  trimmings. 

<;  How  do  you  like  your  job?  "  asked  the  young 
fellow  who  filled  my  order.  This  was  strictly  con- 
ventional, and  I  responded  in  kind.  While  Charlie 
cut  tapes  and  counted  labels,  he  made  the  most  of  his 
opportunity  to  chat.  Dismissing,  with  brief  com- 
ment, the  weather  and  the  peculiar  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  box-making  as  a  trade,  he  diplo- 
matically steered  the  talk  along  personal  and  social 
lines  by  suggesting,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  the 
probability  that  I  should  not  always  be  a  box-maker. 
I  replied  heartily  that  I  hoped  not,  which  precipi- 
tated another  question  :  "  Is  the  day  set  yet  ?  "  My 
amused  negative  to  the  query,  and  intimation  that  I 
had  no  "  steady,"  were  gratefully  received,  and  war- 
ranted the  suggestion  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  I 
liked  to  go  to  balls. 

101 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  My  pleasure  club  has  a  blow-out  next  Sunday 
night,"  he  remarked  significantly,  as  I  gathered  up 
my  trimmings  and  departed. 

During  my  five  minutes'  absence  the  most  exciting 
event  of  the  day  had  occurred.  Adrienne,  one  of  the 
strippers,  had  just  been  carried  away,  unconscious, 
with  two  bleeding  finger-stumps.  In  an  unguarded 
moment  the  fingers  had  been  cut  off  in  her  machine. 
Although  their  work  does  not  allow  them  to  stop  a 
moment,  her  companions  were  all  loud  in  sympathy 
for  this  misfortune,  which  is  not  rare.  Little  Jennie, 
the  unfortunate  girl's  turner-in  and  fellow-worker 
for  two  years,  wept  bitterly  as  she  wiped  away  the 
blood  from  the  long,  shining  knife  and  prepared  to 
take  the  place  of  her  old  superior,  with  its  increased 
wage  of  five  dollars  and  a  half  a  week.  The  little 
girl  had  been  making  only  three  dollars  and  a  quar- 
ter, and  so,  as  Henrietta  remarked,  "  It  's  a  pretty 
bad  accident  that  don't  bring  good  to  somebody." 

"  Did  they  take  her  away  in  a  carriage?  "  Henri- 
etta asked  of  Goldy  Courtleigh,  who  had  stopped  a 
moment  to  rest  at  our  table. 

"  Well,  I  should  say !  What 's  the  use  of  getting 
your  fingers  whacked  off  if  you  can't  get  a  carriage- 
ride  out  of  it?  " 

"  Yes,  and  that 's  about  the  only  way  you 'd  ever 
102 


THE  LONG  DAY 


squeeze  a  carriage-ride  out  of  this  company,"  com- 
mented Henrietta.  "  Now  I  've  two  lady-friends 
who  work  in  mills  where  a  sick  headache  and  a  faint  - 
ing-spell  touch  the  boss  for  a  carriage-ride  every 
time !  " 

The  order  on  which  we  worked  was,  like  most  of 
the  others  on  the  floor  that  day,  for  late-afternoon 
delivery.  Our  ruching-boxes  had  to  be  finished  that 
day,  even  though  it  took  every  moment  till  six  or 
even  seven  o'clock.  Saturday  being  what  is  termed 
a  "  short-day,"  one  had  to  work  with  might  and  main 
in  order  to  leave  at  half-past  four.  This  Henrietta 
was  very  anxious  to  do,  partly  because  she  had  her 
Easter  shopping  to  do,  and  partly  because  this  was 
the  night  I  was  to  be  installed  in  my  new  quarters. 
Lunch-time  found  us  still  far  behind.  Therefore 
we  did  not  stop  to  eat,  but  snatched  bites  of  cake  and 
sandwich  as  hunger  dictated,  and  convenience  per- 
mitted, all  the  while  pasting  and  labeling  and  taping 
our  boxes.  Nor  were  we  the  only  toilers  obliged  to 
forgo  the  hard-earned  half -hour  of  rest. 

The  awakening  thunder  of  the  machinery  burst 
gratefully  on  our  ears.  It  meant  that  the  last  half 
of  the  weary  day  had  begun.  How  my  blistered 
hands  ached  now!  How  my  swollen  feet  and  ankles 
throbbed  with  pain!   Every  girl  limped  now  as  she 

103 


THE  LONG  DAY 


crossed  the  floor  with  her  towering  burden,  and  the 
procession  back  and  forth  between  machines  and 
tables  began  all  over  again.  Lifting  and  carrying 
and  shoving;  cornering  and  taping  and  lacing — it 
seemed  as  though  the  afternoon  would  never  wear  to 
an  end. 

The  whole  great  mill  was  now  charged  with  an  un- 
accustomed excitement — an  excitement  which  had  in 
it  something  of  solemnity.  There  was  no  sign  of 
the  usual  mirth  and  hilarity  which  constitute  the 
mill's  sole  attraction.  There  was  no  singing — not 
even  Angelina's  "  Fatal  Wedding."  No  exchange 
of  stories,  no  sallies.  Each  girl  bent  to  her  task 
with  a  fierce  energy  that  was  almost  maddening  in 
its  intensity. 

Blind  and  dizzy  with  fatigue,  I  peered  down  the 
long,  dusty  aisles  of  boxes  toward  the  clock  above 
Annie  Kinzer's  desk.  It  was  only  two.  Every 
effort,  human  and  mechanical,  all  over  the  great 
factory,  was  now  strained  almost  to  the  breaking- 
point.  How  long  can  this  agony  last?  How  long 
can  the  roar  and  the  rush  and  the  throbbing  pain 
continue  until  that  nameless  and  unknown  something 
snaps  like  an  overstrained  fiddle-string  and  brings 
relief?  The  remorseless  clock  informed  us  that  there 
were  two  hours  more  of  this  torture  before  the  signal 

104 


THE  LONG  DAY 


to  "clean  up  'Va  signal,  however,  which  is  not 
given  until  the  last  girl  has  finished  her  allotted  task. 
At  half -past  two  it  appeared  hopeless  even  to  dream 
of  getting  out  before  the  regular  six  o'clock. 

The  head  foreman  rushed  through  the  aisles  and 
bawled  to  us  to  "  hustle  for  all  we  were  worth,"  as 
customers  were  all  demanding  their  goods. 

"My  God!  ain't  we  hustling?"  angrily  shouted 
Rosie  Sweeny,  a  pretty  girl  at  the  next  table,  who 
supplied  most  of  the  profanity  for  our  end  of  the 
room.  "  God  Almighty !  how  I  hate  Easter  and 
Christmas-time!  Oh,  my  legs  is  'most  breaking," 
and  with  that  the  overwrought  girl  burst  into  a  pas- 
sionate tirade  against  everybody,  the  foreman  in- 
cluded, and  all  the  while  she  never  ceased  to  work. 

There  were  not  many  girls  in  the  factory  like 
Rosie.  Hers  were  the  quickest  fingers,  the  sharpest 
tongue,  the  prettiest  face.  She  was  scornful,  impa- 
tient, and  passionate — qualities  not  highly  de- 
veloped in  her  companions,  and  which  in  her  case 
foreboded  ill  if  one  believed  Annie  Kinzer's  prophecy : 
"  That  Rosie  Sweeny  '11  go  to  the  bad  yet,  you  mark 
my  words." 

Three  o'clock,  a  quarter  after,  half-past !  The 
terrific  tension  had  all  but  reached  the  breaking- 
point.    Then  there  rose  a  trembling,  palpitating 

105 


THE  LONG  DAY 


sigh  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  .hundred  throats, 
and  blended  in  a  universal  expression  of  relief.  In 
her  clear,  high  treble  Angelina  began  the  everlasting 
"Fatal  Wedding."  That  piece  of  false  sentiment 
had  now  a  new  significance.  It  became  a  song  of  de- 
liverance, and  as  the  workers  swelled  the  chorus,  one 
by  one,  it  meant  that  the  end  of  the  day's  toil  was  in 
sight. 

By  four  o'clock  the  last  box  was  done.  Machines 
became  mute,  wheels  were  stilled,  and  the  long  black 
belts  sagged  into  limp  folds.  Every  girl  seized  a 
broom  or  a  scrub-pail,  and  hilarity  reigned  supreme 
while  we  swept  and  scrubbed  for  the  next  half -hour, 
Angelina  and  her  chorus  singing  all  the  while  endless 
stanzas  of  the  "  Fatal  Wedding." 

Henrietta  sent  me  for  a  fresh  pail  of  water,  which 
I  got  from  the  faucet  in  the  toilet-room ;  and  as  I 
filled  my  bucket  I  made  a  mental  inventory  of  my 
fellow-toilers'  wardrobes.  Hanging  from  rows  of 
nails  on  all  sides  were  their  street  garments — a  col- 
lection of  covert-cloth  jackets,  light  tan  automobile 
coats,  black  silk  box-coats  trimmed  in  white  lace,  rag- 
lans,  and  every  other  style  of  fashionable  wrap  that 
might  be  cheaply  imitated.  Sandwiched  among  the 
street  garments  were  the  trained  skirts  and  evening 
bodices  of  the  "  Moonlight  Maids  "  of  the  night  be- 

106 


THE  LONG  DAY 


fore,  and  which  were  to  be  again  disported  at  some 
other  pleasure-club  festivity  that  Easter  evening, 
now  drawing  near.  Along  the  walls  were  ranged 
the  high-heeled  shoes  and  slippers,  a  bewildering 
display  of  gilt  buckles  and  velvet  bows;  each  pair 
waiting  patiently  for  the  swollen,  tired  feet  of  their 
owner  to  carry  them  away  to  the  ball.  The  hats  on 
the  shelf  above  were  in  strict  accord  with  the  gowns 
and  the  cloaks  and  the  foot-gear — a  gorgeous  as- 
sortment of  Easter  millinery,  wherein  the  beflowered 
and  beplumed  picture-hat  predominated. 

I  hurried  back  with  my  bucket  of  water,  hoping  in 
my  heart  that  the  pleasure  their  wearers  got  out  of 
this  finery  might  be  as  great  as  the  day's  work  which 
earned  it  was  long  and  hard.  And  so  indeed  it  must 
have  been,  if  Henrietta  was  any  authority  on  such 
questions. 

"  I  love  nice  clothes,  even  if  I  do  have  to  work 

hard  to  get  them,"  she  remarked,  as  we  turned  into 

feleecker  Street  a  few  minutes  later,  four  one-dollar 

bills  safely  tucked  away  in  her  stocking.    "  But  say, 

you  ought  to  see  my  new  hat.    It  's  elegant,"  and 

drawing  my  arm  through  hers,  my  new  room-mate 

hurried  me  through  the  Saturday-evening  crowd  of 

homeward-bound  humanity. 

♦ 

107 


VIII 


WHEREIN  I  WALK  THROUGH  DARK  AND  DEVIOUS 
WAYS  WITH  HENRIETTA  MANNERS 

IT  had  been  an  ideal  day  for  March — a  day 
touched  with  pale-yellow  sunshine  in  which  one 
felt  the  thrill  and  the  promise  of  the  spring- 
time, despite  the  chill  east  wind. 

Into  the  murky,  evil-smelling  squalor  of  Thomp- 
son Street  this  shy  primrose  sunshine  had  poured  in 
the  earlier  part  of  the  afternoon ;  but,  being  a 
north-and-south  thoroughfare,  it  had  all  filtered  out 
by  half-past  four,  only  to  empty  itself  with  increased 
warmth  and  glory  into  the  east-and-west  cross- 
streets,  leaving  Thompson  dim  and  cold  by  compari- 
son when  Henrietta  Manners  and  I  emerged  from 
Springer's. 

Henrietta  wore  a  dusty  picture-hat  of  black  velvet 
with  a  straight  ostrich  feather  and  streamers  of 
soiled  white  tulle,  and  a  shabby  golf-cape  of  blue 
and  white  check  which  was  not  quite  long  enough  to 

108 


THE  LONG  DAY 

conceal  the  big  brass  safety-pins  with  which  her 
trained  skirt  was  tucked  up,  and  which  she  had  for- 
gotten to  remove  until  we  had  gone  some  yards  down 
the  street.  While  we  stopped  long  enough  for  her 
to  perform  this  most  important  sartorial  detail,  my 
eye  traversed  the  street  before  us,  which  with  a  gentle 
descent  drops  downward  and  stretches  away  toward 
the  south — a  long,  dim,  narrow  vista,  broken  at  reg- 
ular intervals  by  brilliant  shafts  of  gold  streaming 
from  the  sunlit  cross-streets,  and  giving  to  the  other- 
wise squalid  brick-walled  canon  the  appearance  of  a 
gay  checkered  ribbon.  But  if  the  March  sunshine 
had  deserted  Thompson  Street,  the  March  winds  still 
claimed  it  as  their  own.  Up  and  down  they  had 
swept  all  day,  until  the  morning  mud  on  the  cobble- 
stones had  been  long  dried  up  and  turned  to  dust, 
which  now  swirled  along,  caught  up  in  innumerable 
little  whirlwinds  that  went  eddying  down  the  street. 

Grabbing  up  her  demi-train  in  her  bare  hand, 
Henrietta  and  I  also  eddied  down  the  street  and  were 
lost  to  view  for  a  few  moments  in  the  whirlwind  which 
struck  us  at  the  crowded  corner  of  Bleecker  Street. 

This  whirlwind  was  the  result  partly  of  physical 
and  partly  of  human  forces.  For  it  was  Saturday 
night,  and  life  was  running  at  flood-tide  all  over  the 
great  city.    Always  tempestuous,  always  disturbed 

109 


THE  LONG  DAY 

with  the  passion  and  pain  and  strife  of  its  struggle 
to  maintain  the  ground  it  had  gained,  never  for  one 
brief  moment  calm,  even  at  its  lowest  ebb — now,  on 
this  last  night  of  the  long,  weary  week,  all  the  cur- 
rents and  counter-currents  of  the  worker's  world 
were  suddenly  released.  At  the  stroke  of  bell,  at  the 
clang  of  deep-mouthed  gong,  at  the  scream  of  siren 
whistle,  the  sluice-gates  were  lifted  from  the  great 
human  reservoirs  of  factory  and  shop  and  office,  and 
their  myriad  toilers  burst  forth  with  the  cumulative 
violence  of  six  days'  restraint. 

It  was  a  shabby  carnival  of  nations  that  jostled 
one  another  at  this  windy  corner — Italian,  Spanish, 
German,  Slav,  Jew,  Greek,  with  a  preponderance  of 
Irish  and  "  free-born  "  Americans.  The  general  air 
was  one  of  unwonted  happiness  and  freedom.  The 
atmosphere  of  holiday  liberty  was  vibrant  with  the 
expectation  of  Saturday-night  abandon  to  fun  and 
frolic  or  wild  carousal. 

For  "  the  ghost  had  walked  "  through  the  worka- 
day world  that  day,  and  everybody  had  his  "  en- 
velop "  in  his  pocket.  It  is  a  pleasant  sensation  to 
feel  the  stiff -cornered  envelop  tucked  safely  away  in 
your  vest  pocket,  or  in  the  depths  of  your  stocking, 
where  Henrietta  had  hidden  hers  safe  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  wily  pickpocket,  who,  she  told  me,  was 

110 


THE  LONG  DAY 


lurking  at  every  corner  and  sneaking  through  every 
crowd  on  that  Saturday  evening,  which  was  also 
Easter  Eve. 

Easter  Eve !  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  fact 
which  accounted  for  this  more  than  usual  activity  on 
the  part  of  the  hurrying  crowds,  and  for  the  unmis- 
takable holiday  air  which  Bleecker  Street  displayed. 
As  far  as  we  could  see,  lined  up  on  both  sides  of  the 
curb  were  the  pushcart  peddlers,  and  at  every  step  a 
sidewalk  fakir,  all  crying  their  Easter  wares. 

Henrietta  lingered  first  about  one  pushcart,  then 
about  another,  opening  her  gaudy  side-bag,  then 
shutting  it  resolutely  and  marching  on,  determined 
not  to  succumb  to  the  temptation  to  squander  her 
hard-earned  pennies.  She  succeeded  admirably  until 
we  came  upon  a  picturesque  Italian  and  his  wife  who 
were  doing  a  flourishing  business  from  a  pushcart 
piled  high  with  sacred  images.  Henrietta  showed  a 
lively  interest  in  the  cut  prices  at  which  they  were 
going :  ten  cents  for  St.  Peter  in  a  scarlet  robe  and 
golden  sandals  ;  fifteen  cents  for  St.  John  in  purple  ; 
and  only  twenty-five  for  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  flow- 
ing blue  clasping  the  Holy  Babe. 

They  were  "  dirt-cheap,"  Henrietta  declared,  as 
we  watched  the  plaster  casts  pass  over  the  heads  of 
the  crowd,  out  of  which  by  and  by  emerged  our 

111 


THE  LONG  DAY 


shopmate,  little  Angela,  clasping  a  Madonna  under 
her  arm  and  counting  her  change. 

The  three  of  us  resumed  our  homeward  walk  to- 
gether, without  any  comment  until  Angela  had  satis- 
fied herself  about  the  correctness  of  her  change. 

"  What  a  slop  you  are !  "  remarked  Henrietta,  as 
her  critical  eye  swept  over  the  undeveloped  little 
figure  in  the  long,  greasy  black-taffeta  coat,  which, 
flapping  open  in  front,  disclosed  the  pasty  surface  of 
a  drabbled  blue  skirt.  "  Why  don't  you.  never  turn 
your  skirt,  Angela?  99 

"  Oh,  what 's  the  dif  ?  "  replied  Angela.  "  There 
ain't  no  fellows  going  to  look  at  me  any  more  now." 

This  reply,  commonplace  enough,  might  have 
passed  unnoticed  had  there  not  been  a  note  of  trag- 
edy in  her  deep  contralto  voice. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  you  know?  99  she  demanded,  scowling  at 
Henrietta's  silly,  vacant  "  tee-hee." 

"  Know?   Know  what?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  I 'm  a  grass-widow." 

"  A  grass-widow !  "  I  echoed  in  astonishment,  and 
looked  upon  the  childish  creature  in  sheer  unbelief — 
for  child  I  had  always  considered  her.  "  Why,  how 
old  are  you,  anyway,  Angela  ?  " 

"  Fifteen— I  mean  I 'm  'most  fifteen." 

112 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  And  you  're  really  married !  "  I  exclaimed  again, 
quite  aghast  and  altogether  innocent  of  the  construc- 
tion which  Angela  immediately  put  upon  the  quali- 
fying adverb. 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  believe  me  look  at  that  1  "  she 
cried,  and  stuck  out  a  tiny,  dirty  hand,  with  finger- 
nails worn  to  the  quick,  and  decorated  with  a  gold 
band  broad  enough  and  heavy  enough  to  have  held  a 
woman  ten  times  Angela's  weight  and  size  in  the 
bands  of  indissoluble  matrimony ;  "  I  was  married 
for  fair,  and  I  was  married  lawful.   A  priest  did  it." 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  to  question  that,"  I  hastened 
to  apologize  with  some  confusion.  "  Only  you  seemed 
so  very  young,  I  thought  you  were  just  joking  me." 

"  Well,  it 's  no  j  oke  to  be  married  and  have  a  baby, 
specially  when  you  've  got  to  s'port  it,"  returned  the 
girl,  her  lips  still  pouting. 

"  And  you 've  a  baby,  too — you !  " 

The  bedraggled  little  prima  donna  nodded;  the 
pout  on  the  lips  blossomed  into  a  smile,  and  a  look  of 
infinite  tenderness  transformed  the  tired,  dark  little 
face.  "  It  's  up  to  the  creche — that  's  where  I  'm 
going  now.    The  ladies  keeps  it  awful  good  for  me." 

"  And  it  's  such  a  lovely  baby,  too !  "  declared 
Henrietta,  softly.    "  I  seen  it  once." 

"  She 's  cute ;  there 's  no  lie  'bout  that,"  assented 

8  113 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  little  mother.  "  Look  what  I  bought  her — here, 
you  hold  this  Peter  a  minute — Henrietta,  just  hang 
on  to  the  Holy  Virgin,"  and  thrusting  them  into 
our  hands,  she  opened  the  box  under  her  arm  and 
drew  forth  a  gaily  painted  hen  that  clucked  and  laid 
a  painted  egg,  to  the  uproarious  delight  of  Hen- 
rietta. 

Henrietta  meanwhile  had  begun  counting  the 
change  in  her  side-bag. 

"  I  don't  never  like  to  break  a  bill  unless  I 've  got 
to,"  she  remarked,  returning  the  Holy  Virgin  to 
Angela's  arms ;  "but  I 'm  going  to  have  one  of  them 
chickens  too,"  and  away  she  went  after  the  fakir.  A 
moment  later  she  emerged  from  the  crowd  with  a 
little  brown  box  under  her  arm,  and  we  three  con- 
tinued our  walk  westward  along  Bleecker,  dropping 
little  Angela  at  the  corner  of  the  street  which  was  to 
lead  her  to  the  day-nursery  where  she  would  pick  up 
her  baby  and  carry  it  home. 

"  That  was  a  '  fatal  wedding '  for  fair,  was  n't 
it  ?  "  I  remarked,  as  my  eyes  followed  the  little  figure. 

But  my  companion  paid  no  attention  to  my  at- 
tempt to  be  facetious,  if  indeed  she  heard  the  re- 
mark at  all.  She  seemed  to  be  deep  in  a  brown  study, 
and  several  times  I  caught  her  watching  me  narrowly 
from  the  corner  of  her  eye.    I  was  already  begin- 

114 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ning  to  have  some  misgivings  as  to  the  temperamental 
fitness  of  my  strange  "  learner "  and  new-found 
friend  as  a  steady,  day-in-and-day-out  person  with 
whom  to  live  and  eat  and  sleep.  And  this  feeling 
increased  with  every  block  we  covered,  for  by  and  by 
I  found  myself  studying  Henrietta  in  the  same  fur- 
tive manner  as  she  was  evidently  studying  me. 

At  last,  when  we  had  exchanged  the  holiday  gaiety 
and  the  sunshine  of  Bleecker  Street  for  a  dark, 
noisome  side-street,  she  broke  out  explosively : 

"  Hope  to  God  you  ain't  going  to  turn  out  the 
way  my  last  room-mate  did ! 99 

"Why?  What  did  she  do?" 

"  Went  crazy,"  came  the  laconic  reply,  and  she 
shivered  and  drew  the  old  golf -cape  more  closely 
about  her  shoulders ;  for  the  damp  of  the  dark,  silent 
tenements  on  either  side  seemed  to  strike  to  the  mar- 
row. Something  in  her  manner  seemed  to  say,  "  Ask 
no  more  questions,"  but  nevertheless  I  pursued  the 
subject. 

"Went  crazy!  How?" 

"I  d'  know;  she  just  went  sudden  crazy.  She 
come  to  Springer's  one  day  just  like  you,  and  she 
said  how  she  was  wanting  to  find  a  place  to  board 
cheap ;  and  she  was  kind  of  down  in  the  mouth,  and 
she  come  home  with  me;  and  all  of  a  sudden  in  the 

115 


THE  LONG  DAY 


night  I  woke  up  with  her  screamin'  and  going  on 
something  fearful,  and  I  run  down  and  got  the  Dago 
lady  in  the  basement  to  come  up,  and  her  man  run 
for  the  police.  They  took  her  away  to  the  lock-up 
in  the  hurry-up  wagon,  and  the  next  day  they  said 
she  was  crazy, — clean  crazy, — and  she  's  in  the 
crazy-house  over  on  the  Island  now." 

"  What  island?  "  I  asked,  not  with  any  desire  to 
know  this  minor  detail,  but  because  I  was  too  dis- 
turbed for  the  moment  to  make  any  other  comment. 
It  seemed  to  Henrietta,  however,  a  most  senseless 
question,  for  she  remarked  rather  testily: 

"  Why,  just  the  Island,  where  they  send  all  the 
crazy  folks,  and  the  drunks,  and  the  thieves  and 
murderers,  and  them  that  has  smallpox." 

"  Mercy !  what  an  awful  place  it  must  be !  "  I 
cried.    "  And  that 's  where  the  poor  girl  went?  " 

"  That 's  where  she  went — say,  tell  me  honest  now, 
did  n't  you  run  away  ?  " 

"  Run  away  !   Where  from  ?  " 

"  Run  away  from  home — now  did  n't  you?  " 

"  Mercy,  no !  What  put  such  an  idea  as  that  in 
your  head?  "  I  asked,  laughing. 

"  Fanny  Harley  did." 

"  Who  's  Fanny  Harley?" 

"  She 's  the  girl  they  took  to  the  crazy-house." 
116 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  But,"  I  argued,  "  is  that  any  reason  for  you  to 
suppose  that  I  ran  away  from  home  too?  " 

"  Yep,  it  is.  You  're  ever  so  much  like  Fanny 
Harley.  You  talk  just  alike,  and  you 've  got  just 
the  same  notions  she  had,  from  what  I  can  make; 
and  she  did  run  away  from  home.  She  told  me  so. 
She  lived  up-state  somewhere,  and  was  off  a  farm 
just  like  you;  and — " 

"  But  I 'm  not  a  farmer,  and  never  was,"  I  put  in. 

"  Why,  you  told  me  yourself  you  was  born  in  the 
country,  did  n't  you?  "  and  I  saw  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  point  out  to  Henrietta  the  difference  be- 
tween farmers  and  those  born  in  the  country,  both  of 
which  were  terms  of  contempt  in  her  vocabulary. 
We  were  still  threading  the  maze  of  strange,  squalid 
streets  which  was  to  lead  us  eventually  to  the  former 
brief  abiding-place  of  Fanny  Harley ;  and,  filled 
with  curiosity  regarding  my  own  resemblance  to  my 
unfortunate  predecessor,  I  revived  the  subject  by 
asking  carelessly: 

"  How  is  it  I  talk  and  act  that  makes  me  like 
Fanny  Harley  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  've  got  a  kind  of  high-toned  way  of 
talking,"  she  explained.  "  I  don't  mind  the  way 
you  talk,  though, —  using  big  words  and  all  that. 
That  ain't  none  of  our  business,  I  tell  the  girls; 

117 


THE  LONG  DAY 


but  you  do  walk  so  funny  and  stand  so  funny,  that 
it  is  all  I  can  do  to  keep  from  bu'stin'  out  laughing  to 
see  you.  And  the  other  girls  says  it 's  the  same  with 
them,  but  I  told  them  it  was  because  you  was  just 
from  the  country,  and  that  farmers  all  walk  the 
same  way.  But  really,  Rose, — you  're  getting  used 
to  that  name,  ain't  you? — you  ought  to  get  yourself 
over  it  as  quick  as  you  can ;  you  ain't  going  to  have 
no  lady-friends  in  the  factory  if  you  're  going  to  be 
queer  like  that." 

"  But  I  walk  as  I  always  did.  How  else  should  I 
walk?  How  do  I  walk  that  makes  me  so  funny?  "  I 
asked,  mortified  at  the  thought  of  my  having  been 
the  butt  of  secret  ridicule.  Henrietta  was  cordial 
in  her  reply. 

"  You  walk  too  light,"  she 'explained ;  "  you  don't 
seem  to  touch  the  ground  at  all  when  you  go  along, 
and  you  stand  so  straight  it  makes  my  back  ache  to 
watch  you." 

Then  my  mentor  proceeded  to  correct  my  use  and 
choice  of  diction. 

"  And  what  makes  you  say  6  lid  '  when  you  mean  a 
cover?  Why,  it  just  about  kills  us  girls  to  hear  you 
say  <  lid.'  " 

"  But,"  I  remonstrated,  aggravated  by  her  silly 
"  tee-hee "   into   defense   of   my   English,   "  why 

118 


THE  LONG  DAY 


should  n't  I  say  4  lid '  if  I  want  to?  It  means  just 
the  same  as  cover." 

"  Well,  if  it  means  the  same,  why  don't  you  say 
'cover'?"  my  "learner"  retorted,  with  ill-dis- 
guised anger  that  I  should  question  her  authority ; 
and  I  dropped  the  subject,  and  the  remainder  of  the 
walk  was  continued  in  silence. 

It  was  growing  more  and  more  apparent  that  I 
had  not  made  a  wise  selection  in  my  room-mate,  but 
it  seemed  too  late  to  back  out  now — at  least  until  I 
had  given  her  a  trial  of  several  days. 

I  felt  as  though  I  had  obtained,  as  if  by  magic,  a 
wonderfully  illuminating  insight  into  her  nature  and 
character  during  this  short  walk  from  the  factory. 
I  had  thought  her  at  the  work-table  a  kind-hearted, 
honest  toiler,  a  bit  too  visionary,  perhaps,  to  accord 
with  perfect  veracity,  and  woefully  ignorant,  but 
with  an  ignorance  for  which  I  could  feel  nothing  but 
sorrow  and  sympathy,  as  the  inevitable  result  of  the 
hard  conditions  of  her  life  and  environment.  But 
now  I  recognized  with  considerable  foreboding,  not 
only  all  this,  but  much  more  besides.  Henrietta 
Manners,  that  humble,  under-fed,  miserable  box- 
maker,  was  the  very  incarnation  of  bigotry  and  in- 
tolerance, one  by  whom  any  idea,  or  any  act,  word, 
or  occurrence  out  of  the  ordinary  rut  set  by  box- 

119 


THE  LONG  DAY 


factory  canons  of  taste  and  judgment,  must  be  con- 
demned with  despotic  severity.  And  yet,  in  the  face 
of  all  these  unpleasant  reflections  upon  poor  Henri- 
etta's unbeautiful  mental  characteristics,  I  felt  a  cer- 
tain shamefaced  gratitude  toward  the  kind  heart 
which  I  knew  still  beat  under  that  shabby  golf -cape. 

Meanwhile,  Henrietta  had  again  lapsed  into  a 
silent,  sullen  mood,  as  she  pitched  along  in  the  nerv- 
ous, jerky,  heavy-footed  gait  which  she  had  urged 
me  to  emulate,  and  which  I  thought  so  hideous.  I 
did  not  know  then,  but  I  do  know  now,  that  such 
gait  is  invariably  a  characteristic  of  the  constitution 
in  which  there  is  not  the  proper  coordination  of  mus- 
cular effort.  In  the  light  of  knowledge  gained  in 
later  years,  I  can  now  see  in  that  long,  slouching, 
shuffling  figure,  in  that  tallow-colored  face  with  the 
bloodless,  loose  lips  and  the  wandering,  mystic  eyes 
of  periwinkle  blue — I  can  see  in  that  girl-face 
framed  by  a  trashy  picture-hat,  and  in  that  girl- 
form  wrapped  in  the  old  golf -cape,  one  of  the  earth's 
unfortunates;  a  congenital  failure;  a  female  crea- 
ture doomed  from  her  mother's  womb — physically, 
mentally,  and  morally  doomed. 

I  was,  however,  on  this  memorable  Easter  Eve 
most  happily  innocent  of  my  Lombroso  and  my 
Mantagazza,  else  I  had  not  been  walking  home  with 

120 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Henrietta  Manners,  in  all  the  confidence  of  an  un- 
sophisticated country-girl.  So  much  confidence  did 
I  have  in  my  shop-mate  that  I  did  not  yet  know  the 
name  of  the  street  on  the  West  Side  where  my 
future  home  was,  nor  did  I  know  any  of  the  strange, 
dark,  devious  paths  by  which  she  led  me  through  a 
locality  that,  though  for  the  most  part  eminently 
respectable,  is  dotted  here  and  there,  near  the  river- 
front, with  some  of  the  worst  plague-spots  of  moral 
and  physical  foulness  to  be  found  in  New  York. 

In  later  and  more  prosperous  years  I  have  several 
times  walked  into  Thompson  Street,  and  from  that 
as  a  starting-point  tried  to  retrace  our  walk  of  that 
night,  bordering  along  old  Greenwich  Village,  but 
as  well  have  tried  to  unravel  the  mazes  of  the  Cretan 
Labyrinth. 

The  last  westward  street  we  traversed,  dipping 
under  the  trellis  of  an  elevated  railroad,  led  straight 
into  a  lake  of  sunset  fire  out  of  which  the  smoking 
funnels  of  a  giant  steamship  lying  at  her  dock  rose 
dark  and  majestic  upon  the  horizon. 

A  little  cry  of  admiration  escaped  me  at  sight  of 
the  splendid  picture,  and  I  hoped  secretly  that  our 
way  might  continue  to  the  water's  edge ;  but  instead, 
reaching  the  line  of  the  elevated,  we  turned  in  and 
followed  the  cold,  black  street  above  which  the  noisy 

121 


THE  LONG  DAY 


trains  ran.  The  street  itself  presented  the  appear- 
ance of  a  long  line  of  darkened  warehouses,  broken 
occasionally  by  a  dismal-looking  dwelling,  through 
the  uncurtained  windows  of  which  we  could  see  slat- 
tern housewives  busy  getting  supper. 

It  was  the  most  miserable  and  squalid  of  all  the 
miserable  and  squalid  streets  I  had  thus  far  seen,  and 
it  had  the  additional  disadvantage  of  being  practi- 
cally deserted  of  everything  save  the  noise  and  smoke 
overhead.  There  were  no  foot-passengers,  no  human 
sounds.  It  was  all  so  hideous  and  fearsome  that  after 
five  minutes'  walk  I  was  not  surprised  to  see  Henri- 
etta select  the  most  wretched  of  all  the  wretched 
houses  as  the  one  we  should  enter.  As  we  climbed 
the  high  stoop,  I  could  see,  through  the  interstices  of 
rusted  ironwork  that  had  once  been  handsome  balus- 
ters, the  form  of  an  Italian  woman  sitting  in  the 
basement  window  beneath,  nursing  a  baby  at  her 
breast. 

"  That  's  the  lady  what  come  up  to  help  hold 
Fanny  Harley,"  my  room-mate  remarked  as  we 
passed  inside. 


122 


IX 


INTRODUCING    HENRIETTA'S    "  SPECIAL  GENTLEMAN- 
FRIEND  " 


AY!  ain't  you  got  no  special  gentleman- 
friend?" 

Henrietta's  voice,  breaking  a  pregnant 


silence,  startled  me  so  that  I  nearly  jumped  off  the 
empty  soap-box  where  for  some  minutes  I  had  sat 
watching  her  bend  over  a  smoking  skillet  of  frying 
fat. 

An  answer  was  not  to  be  given  unadvisedly,  such 
was  the  moral  effect  of  the  question.  It  had  n't 
been  asked  in  a  casual  way,  but  showed,  by  its  ex- 
plosive form  of  utterance,  that  it  was  the  result  not 
so  much  of  a  pent-up  curiosity  as  of  a  careful  specu- 
lation as  to  the  manner  in  which  I  would  receive  it. 
So  I  tried  to  look  unconscious,  and  at  this  critical 
juncture  the  thunder  of  an  elevated  train  came  ad- 
ventitiously to  my  rescue  and  gave  me  a  few  moments 
in  which  to  consider  what  I  should  reply.    And  as  I 

123 


THE  LONG  DAY 

considered  unconsciously  my  eye  took  in  an  inven- 
tory of  the  room.  The  heavily  carved  woodwork 
hinted  of  the  fact  that  it  had  once  been  a  lady's  bed- 
chamber in  the  bygone  days  when  this  was  a  fashion- 
able quarter  of  New  York,  and  its  spaciousness  and 
former  elegance  now  served  rather  to  increase  the 
squalor  as  well  as  to  accentuate  the  barrenness  of  its 
furnishings.  The  latter  consisted  of  two  wooden 
boxes,  one  of  which  I  sat  upon;  an  empty  sugar- 
barrel,  with  a  board  laid  across  the  top ;  a  broken- 
down  bed  in  an  uncurtained  alcove;  a  very  large, 
substantial-looking  trunk,  iron-bound  and  brass- 
riveted;  and  last,  but  not  least,  a  rusty  stove,  now 
red-hot,  which  might  well  have  been  the  twin  sister 
of  my  own  "  Little  Lottie  "  at  the  ill-fated  Four- 
teenth-street house.  This  stove,  connected  with  the 
flue  by  a  small  pipe,  fitted  into  what  had  once  been  a 
beautiful  open  fireplace,  but  which  was  now  walled 
up  with  broken  bricks,  and  surmounted  by  a  mantel 
of  Italian  marble  sculptured  with  the  story  of  Pro- 
metheus's  boon  to  mankind,  and  supported  on  either 
end  by  caryatides  in  the  shape  of  vestal  virgins  bear- 
ing naming  brands  in  their  hands.  Overhead  the 
ceiling  showed  great  patches  of  bare  lath,  where  the 
plaster  had  fallen  away,  and  the  uncarpeted  floor 
was  strewn  with  bread-crumbs  and  marked  by  a  trail 

124 


THE  LONG  DAY 


of  coal-sif tings  from  the  stove  to  a  closet-door  from 
which  the  fire  was  replenished.  The  door  to  the 
closet  was  gone,  and  in  its  recess  a  pair  of  trousers 
hung  limply,  while  Henrietta's  scant  wardrobe  was 
ranged  along  the  black-painted  wall  outside.  The 
long,  cobweb-hung  windows,  bare  of  blind  or  curtain, 
showed  a  black-mirrored  surface  against  the  batten 
shutters. 

All  these  details  I  could  descry  but  dimly  by  the 
light  of  the  smoking  oil-lamp  that  sat  on  the  mantel- 
shelf above  the  stove,  and  which  cast  a  ghastly  light 
upon  a  row  of  empty  bottles — the  sole  burden  of  the 
once  spotless,  but  now  sadly  soiled,  vestal  virgins. 

Henrietta  was  bending  over  the  smoking  skillet, 
with  the  lamp-light  falling  across  her  pale  face.  As 
she  boiled  the  coffee  and  fried  the  eggs  I  studied  her 
profile  sketched  against  the  blue,  smoky  background, 
and  tried  in  vain  to  grasp  the  secret  of  its  fleeting, 
evanescent  beauty.  For  beautiful  Henrietta  was — 
beautiful  with  a  beauty  quite  her  own  and  all  the 
more  potent  because  of  its  very  indefinableness.  I 
watched  her  as  one  horribly  fascinated, — that  high, 
wide  white  forehead,  that  weak  chin,  those  soft, 
tremulous  lips,  on  which  a  faint  smile  would  so  often 
play,  and  those  great,  wide  eyes  of  blue  that  now 
looked  purple  in  the  lamp-light.    And  then,  grad- 

125 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ually,  I  saw,  as  I  watched,  an  expression  I  had  never 
seen  there  before;  the  wavering  suggestion  of  the 
smile  left  the  lips  and  they  fell  apart,  loose  and 
bloodless,  with  a  glimpse  of  the  missing  front  tooth. 
It  was  an  expression  that  lasted  but  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  but  it  stamped  her  whole  countenance  with 
something  sinister. 

Then  Henrietta  lifted  the  eggs,  carried  the  coffee- 
pot across  to  the  table,  which  was  none  other  than 
the  board-capped  barrel,  and  went  back  for  the 
lamp.  All  these  things  she  insisted  upon  doing  her- 
self, just  as  she  had  stubbornly  refused  to  allow  me 
to  help  with  the  cooking  of  the  supper. 

Setting  the  lamp  down  upon  the  improvised  table, 
she  threw  open  one  of  the  shutters  to  let  in  a  breath 
of  fresh  air,  and  as  she  did  so  the  room  was  filled  with 
the  roar  and  dust  of  the  elevated  train  which  passed 
so  close  to  our  windows,  and  after  it  came  a  cold 
draft  of  air  caused  by  the  suction  of  the  cars.  Hen- 
rietta closed  the  window  and  returned  to  the  table. 

Then  I  answered  her  question :  "  Well,  that  de- 
pends upon  what  you  mean  by  gentleman-friend,"  I 
said. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said,"  replied  Henrietta, 
sliding  an  egg  upon  her  plate  and  passing  the  re- 

126 


THE  LONG  DAY 


maining  one  to  me.  "  I  mean  a  special  gentleman- 
friend." 

"  Well,  no ;  I  guess  I  have  n't.  I  used  to  know 
lots  of  boys  in  the  country  where  I  lived,  but  there 
is  n't  one  of  them  I  could  call  my  special  gentleman- 
friend,  and  I  don't  know  any  men  here."  I  uttered 
this  speech  carefully,  so  as  not  to  imply  any  criticism 
of  Henrietta's  use  of  the  expression  "  gentleman- 
friend,"  nor  to  call  down  upon  my  own  head  her 
criticism  for  using  any  other  than  the  box-factory 
vernacular  in  discussing  these  delicate  amatory 
affairs. 

"  Oh,  go  and  tell  that  to  your  grandmother !  "  she 
retorted,  with  a  sly  little  laugh.  "  Don't  none  of 
the  girls  there  have  gentlemen-friends,  or  is  farmers 
so  different  that  they  never  stand  gentlemen-friends 
to  them?" 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  yes  !  "  I  answered  hastily,  trying  to 
avoid  the  unpleasant  double  entendre,  and  choosing 
to  accept  it  in  its  strictly  explicit  phase.  "  Why, 
certainly,  the  girls  get  married  there  every  day. 
There  are  hardly  any  old  maids  in  my  part  of  the 
country.  They  get  engaged  almost  as  soon  as  they 
are  out  of  short  dresses,  and  the  first  thing  you  know, 
they  are  married  and  raising  families."    Then  I 

127 


THE  LONG  DAY 


added,  "  but  have  you  got  a  gentleman-friend  your- 
self? " 

"  Yep,"  she  answered,  nodding  and  pouring  out 
the  coffee;  "I  have  a  very  particular  gentleman- 
friend  what  's  been  keeping  company  with  me  for 
nearly  a  year,  off  and  on." 

"  Oh !  "  I  cried,  eager  to  turn  the  conversation 
toward  Henrietta's  personal  affairs  instead  of  my 
own,  which  I  felt  she  completely  misconstrued.  "  Do 
tell  me  about  him;  what  is  his  name — and  are  you 
engaged  to  him  yet?  " 

"  My !  ain't  you  fresh,  though  ?  "  she  said ;  but 
there  was  cordiality  in  the  rebuff.  "  I  met  him  at 
the  mission  where  I  teach  Sundays,"  she  went  on. 
"  He 's  brother  Mason,  and  he  's  the  Sunday-school 
superintendent.  He  give  me  all  that  perfume  on 
the  mantel,"  and  she  pointed  a  dripping  knife 
toward  the  row  of  empty  bottles. 

"  Why,  is  he  in  the  perfumery  business?  "  I  asked 
innocently,  my  eyes  ranging  over  the  heterogeneous 
collection  on  the  mantel.  Henrietta  took  the  remark 
as  exceedingly  funny,  for  she  immediately  fell  into 
a  paroxysm  of  tittering,  choking  over  a  mouthful  of 
food  before  she  could  attain  gravity  enough  to 
answer. 

"  Lord !  no ;  you  do  ask  the  funniest  questions ! 99 
128 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Thus  checked,  I  did  not  press  for  further  infor- 
mation as  to  brother  Mason's  vocation,  but  proceeded 
to  satisfy  my  hunger,  which  was  not  diminished  by 
the  unappetizing  appearance  of  the  food  on  the 
barrel. 

It  was  a  matter  of  great  surprise  to  me  to  see  how 
little  Henrietta  ate,  and  I  was  likewise  ashamed  of 
my  own  voracious  appetite.  Henrietta  noticed  this 
and  frowned  ominously. 

"  God!  but  you  do  eat!  "  she  commented  frankly, 
poising  her  knife  in  air. 

"  I 'm  hungry.  I 've  worked  hard  to-day,"  I  re- 
plied with  dignity. 

"  Maybe  you  won't  eat  so  much,  though,  after  a 
while,"  she  said  hopefully. 

"  Maybe  not,"  I  agreed.  "  But  you,  Henrietta — 
you  are  not  eating  anything !  " 

"  Me?  Oh,  I  'm  all  right.  I  'm  eating  as  much 
as  I  ever  do.  The  works  takes  away  my  hunger. 
If  it  did  n't,  I  don't  know  how  I  'd  get  along. 
If  I  eat  as  much  as  you,  I  'd  be  likely  to  starve 
to  death.  I  could  n't  make  enough  to  feed  me. 
When  I  first  begun  to  work  in  the  factory  I  'd  eat 
three  or  four  pieces  of  bread  across  the  loaf,  and 
potatoes  and  meat,  and  be  hungry  for  things 
besides;  but  after  a  while  you  get  used  to  being 

9  129 


THE  LONG  DAY 


hungry  for  so  long,  you  could  n't  eat  if  you  had 
it  to  eat." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  working?  "  I  ventured. 

Henrietta  put  her  cup  on  the  table  and  shot  a  sus- 
picious glance  at  me  before  she  answered: 

"  Oh,  off  and  on,  and  for  five  or  six  years,  ever 
since  my  uncle  died.  He  was  my  guardian— that 's 
his  house  up  there." 

I  looked  in  the  direction  of  Henrietta's  pointed 
finger  to  a  cheap  chromolithograph  that  was  tacked 
on  the  wall  between  the  windows  and  immediately 
over  the  barrel  where  we  were  eating.  I  recognized 
it  at  once  as  a  reproduction  of  a  familiar  scene  show- 
ing a  castle  on  the  Rhine.  I  had  seen  the  same  pic- 
ture many  times,  once  as  a  supplement  with  a  Sun- 
day newspaper.  That  this  stately  pile  of  green  and 
yellow  variegated  stones  should  be  the  residence  of 
Henrietta's  uncle  and  guardian  seemed  obviously  but 
a  bit  of  girlish  fun,  of  a  piece  with  her  earlier  talk 
regarding  her  aristocratic  ancestry ;  for  by  this  time 
I  had  construed  that  strange  story  into  a  hoax  that 
was  never  meant  to  be  taken  seriously. 

But  one  glance  now  at  Henrietta's  face  showed  me 
my  mistake.  It  was  plainly  to  be  seen  that  she  had 
come  to  believe  every  word  of  what  she  had  told  me. 

My  eye  had  traveled  to  the  row  of  garments  on  the 
130 


THE  LONG  DAY 


pegs  behind  the  door  and  had  rested  with  curiosity 
upon  a  "  lassie  "  bonnet  and  cloak.  Henrietta  did 
not  wait  for  the  question  on  my  lips. 

"  Them 's  my  adjutant's  uniform,"  she  said,  with 
a  touch  of  pride.  "  You  did  n't  know  I  used  to  be 
an  adjutant  in  the  Salvation  Army,  did  you?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  I  was,  all  right.  Adjutant  Faith  Man- 
ners, that  's  what  I  was,"  and  rising,  she  limped 
across  the  floor,  and  burrowing  in  the  depths  of 
the  trunk,  returned  in  a  moment  with  an  envelop 
which  she  handed  me  with  the  command  to  read 
its  contents.  The  envelop,  postmarked  "  Pitts- 
burg, Pa.,"  was  addressed  to  Adjutant  Faith 
Manners. 

"  But  how  does  it  come  you  have  two  names  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Well,"  the  girl  replied  slowly,  "  I  thought  as 
how  it  sounded  better  for  a  professing  Christian  to 
have  some  name  like  that,  than  Henrietta.  Henri- 
etta is  kind  of  fancy-sounding,  specially  when  you 
was  an  adjutant  officer  and  was  supposed  to  have 
give  yourself  to  Jesus." 

I  read  the  letter ;  it  was  a  curious  epistle,  written 
in  a  beautiful,  flowing  hand,  well  worded,  and  com- 
plimenting Adjutant  Manners  upon  her  "  persist- 

131 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ence  in  the  good  work  for  Jesus,"  and  winding  up 
with  the  offer  of  a  small  post,  at  a  salary  to  be  de- 
termined later  on,  in  the  Pittsburg  barracks  of  the 
Salvation  Army.  The  name  of  the  writer,  which  for 
obvious  reasons  it  is  best  not  to  divulge,  was  that  of 
an  officer  who,  I  have  since  discovered,  is  well  and 
favorably  known  in  Pittsburg.  The  whole  thing 
was  a  bewildering  paradox.  There  was  no  doubt  of 
its  being  a  bona-fide  letter,  nor  of  Adjutant  Faith 
Manners  and  my  room-mate  being  one  and  the  same 
person.  And  yet,  how  explain  the  ludicrous  incon- 
sistency of  such  an  experience  in  the  life  of  such  a 
girl  ? 

I  had  opened  my  mouth  to  ask  some  question  to 
this  end,  when  we  started  as  a  heavy  step  resounded 
in  the  hallway  outside.  Then  the  latch  rattled,  the 
door  swung  open,  and  a  thick-set,  burly,  bearded 
man  stood  upon  the  threshold.  I  screamed  before  I 
noticed  that  Henrietta  regarded  the  new-comer  quite 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  man  stood  in  the  doorway,  evidently  surprised 
for  the  moment  at  seeing  me  there ;  then,  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  he  advanced  awkwardly,  tiptoeing 
across  the  floor,  and  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the 
bed  without  so  much  as  a  word. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cup  of  coffee,  brother  Mason?  " 
132 


THE  LONG  DAY 


asked  Henrietta,  shaking  the  pot  to  determine 
whether  its  contents  would  warrant  the  invitation. 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  sister  Manners,"  returned 
brother  Mason,  removing  his  hat  as  if  it  were  an 
afterthought,  and  drawing  forth  a  large  red  hand- 
kerchief with  which  he  mopped  his  forehead  and 
thick  red  neck. 

"  This  is  my  lady-friend,  Rose  Fortune,"  said 
Henrietta  as  she  drained  the  coffee-pot,  and  nodding 
first  to  the  visitor,  then  to  myself ;  "  my  gentleman- 
friend,  brother  Mason." 

Brother  Mason  had  risen  and  tiptoed  forward,  his 
hands  thrust  into  the  bulging  pockets  of  his  over- 
coat, whence  he  proceeded  gravely  to  draw  forth  and 
deposit  upon  the  barrel-top  a  heterogeneous  love- 
offering,  as  follows :  two  oranges ;  a  box  of  mustard ; 
a  small  sack  of  nutmegs ;  a  box  of  ground  pepper ; 
a  package  of  allspice ;  a  box  containing  three  dozen 
bouillon  capsules ;  a  bottle  of  the  exact  size  and  label 
as  the  innumerable  empty  vessels  on  the  mantel;  a 
package  of  tea  done  up  in  fancy  red-and-gold 
paper;  and,  last,  a  large  paper  sack  of  pulverized 
coffee. 

Henrietta  now  handed  a  cup  to  the  donor  of  these 
gifts,  which  he  accepted  meekly  and  carried  on  tip- 
toe back  to  his  place  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
133 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Brother  Mason  drank  his  coffee  with  a  great  deal 
of  unnecessary  noise,  while  Henrietta  gathered  up 
the  dishes,  after  again  rebuffing  me  almost  rudely 
for  presuming  to  offer  my  services.  Thus  there  was 
nothing  left  for  me  to  do,  apparently,  but  to  sit  on 
the  soap-box  and  look  at  brother  Mason,  who  re- 
garded me  in  rather  sheepish  fashion  over  the  top  of 
his  cup. 

I  judged  him  to  be  a  good-natured  man  on  the 
near  side  of  fifty.  His  close-cropped  hair  was  an 
iron-gray,  and  his  stubby  beard  and  mustache  a 
fierce  red,  the  ferocity  of  which  was  tempered  by  the 
mildness  of  deep-set,  small  blue  eyes.  His  general 
appearance  would,  I  thought,  have  been  more  in  ac- 
cord with  the  driver  of  a  beer-truck  than  anything  so 
comparatively  genteel  as  driving  a  grocer's  wagon 
— his  occupation,  I  discovered,  which  explained 
the  source  of  his  offerings  to  Henrietta.  Despite 
the  burliness  of  brother  Mason,  there  was  that  about 
him  which  rather  encouraged  confidence  than  aroused 
suspicion,  although  it  was  difficult  to  reconcile  him 
with  the  superintendence  of  a  mission  Sunday-school. 
The  latter  incongruity  had  just  popped  into  my 
mind  when  he  broke  the  silence  by  asking  in  a  deep 
guttural,  and  with  a  vigorous  nod  in  my  direction 
as  he  put  down  his  empty  cup : 

134 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"Ha!  Cat'lic?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  eager  to  break  the  embar- 
rassing silence — "  oh,  no;  I 'm  a  Protestant." 

"  Ha !  But  you  be  Irish,  be  n't  you?  " 

I  laughed.    "  No ;  American !  " 

"  Ha !   Father  and  mother  Irish,  mebbe?  " 

"  No,  they  were  American,  too ;  but  my  great- 
great-grandfather  and  -grandmother  were  Irish." 

"  Aye,  that  's  it !  I  knowed  you  was  Irish  the 
minute  I  seen  them  red  cheeks,  eh !  sister  Manners  ?  " 
chuckled  brother  Mason  in  a  rich  brogue,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  looking  across  at  my  room-mate,  who 
had  been  apparently  oblivious  to  our  conversation, 
as  she  washed  and  wiped  the  dishes  out  of  a  tin  basin 
which  I  recognized  as  that  from  which  we  had  washed 
our  hands  and  faces  after  we  got  home  from  work. 
She  now  fixed  the  visitor  with  her  periwinkle  eyes, 
and  replied  severely : 

"  I  ain't  got  nothing  to  say  against  my  lady- 
friend's  looks,  as  you  certainly  know,  brother 
Mason." 

Something  in  this  answer — no  doubt,  a  hint  of 
smothered  jealousy — made  brother  Mason  throw  his 
hand  to  his  mouth  and  duck  his  head  as  he  darted  a 
sly  look  toward  me.  But  I  met  the  look  with  a 
serious  face,  and  indeed  I  felt  serious  enough  without 

135 


THE  LONG  DAY 


getting  myself  into  any  imbroglio  with  this  strange 
pair  of  lovers. 

"  You  're  Irish,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Mason  ?  99  I  asked 
when  he  had  recovered  his  gravity  after  this  mirth- 
provoking  incident. 

"  Me?  I 'm  from  County  Wicklow,  but  I  ain't  no 
Cat'lic  Irish.  I  'm  a  Methody.  Cat'lic  in  the  old 
country,  Methody  here.  Got  converted  twenty 
years  ago  at  one  of  them  Moody  and  Sankey  meet- 
ings— you  've  heard  tell  of  Moody  and  Sankey, 
mebbe?  Eh?  Ha!" 

These  latter  ejaculations  the  Catholic  apostate  re- 
peated alternately  and  with  rhythmic  precision  as  he 
proceeded  to  press  tobacco  into  a  clay  pipe  with 
numerous  deft  movements  of  his  large  red  thumb, 
regarding  me  fixedly  all  the  while. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  repeated  many  times,  but  not  until 
he  had  lighted  the  pipe  and  drawn  a  deep  whiff  of  it 
did  brother  Mason  choose  to  regard  his  question  as 
answered. 

"  Well,  it  was  them  that  brought  me  to  the  mourn- 
ers' bench,  for  fair.  It  was  Moody  and  Sankey 
that  did  the  damage ;  and  I 've  got  to  say  this  much 
for  them  gentlemen,  I  've  never  seen  the  day  I  was 
sorry  they  did  it.  I 'm  the  supe  of  a  mission  Sunday- 
school  now,  meself ;  and  I 've  done  me  dirty  best  to 

136 


THE  LONG  DAY 


push  the  gospel  news  along."  Here  he  turned  to 
Henrietta.  "  Be  your  lady-friend  coming  over  to- 
morrow afternoon,  sister  Manners?  " 

"  I  don't  hinder  her,  nor  nobody's,  doing  what 
they  like !  "  answered  Henrietta,  again  with  that  air 
of  severity,  not  to  say  iciness,  in  her  manner ;  and  I 
shifted  myself  uncomfortably  on  the  box  as  I  met  her 
glance  of  patient  scorn.  She  had  now  finished  her 
dish-washing,  and  seated  herself  upon  the  edge  of 
the  box,  which  brother  Mason  had  already  appro- 
priated with  his  large,  clumsy  bulk. 

"  Come  now,  you  do  care,  ye  know  you  care !  "  he 
said  gruffly,  as  he  threw  an  arm  carelessly  across  the 
girl's  shoulder  and  patted  her  kindly ;  the  scowl  im- 
mediately left  her  face  and  her  head  dropped  upon 
his  brawny,  red-shirted  breast  and  snugly  settled 
itself  there,  much  to  my  embarrassment.  Then,  be- 
tween long-drawn  whiffs  of  the  rank-smelling  pipe, 
brother  Mason  descanted  upon  himself  and  his 
achievements,  religious,  social,  financial,  and  polit- 
ical, with  no  interruption  save  frequent  fits  of  chok- 
ing on  the  part  of  poor  Henrietta,  whom  even  the 
clouds  of  rank  smoke  could  not  drive  from  her  posi- 
tion of  vantage. 

Brother  Mason,  so  he  informed  me,  was  not  only 
an  Irishman  and  a  Methodist,  but  a  member  of 

137 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Tammany  Hall  and  a  not  unimportant  personage  in 
the  warehouses  of  the  wholesale  grocers  for  whom  he 
drove  the  delivery  wagon,  and  from  whom,  I  now 
have  n't  a  doubt  in  the  world,  he  had  stolen  for  the 
benefit  of  his  lady-love  many  such  an  offering  of 
sweet  perfume  and  savory  spice  as  he  had  carried  her 
that  Easter  Eve.  I  found  his  talk  eminently  enter- 
taining, with  the  charm  that  often  goes  with  the  talk 
of  an  unlettered  person  who  knows  much  of  life  and 
of  men.  He  was  densely  ignorant  from  the  school- 
master's point  of  view,  and  openly  confessed  to  an 
inability  to  write  his  name;  but  his  ignorance  was 
refreshing,  as  the  ignorance  of  man  is  always  re- 
freshing when  compared  with  the  ignorance  of  wo- 
man ;  which  fact,  it  has  often  appeared  to  me,  is  the  .• 
strongest  argument  in  favor  of  the  general  superior- 
ity of  the  male  sex.  For  hidden  somewhere  within 
brother  Mason's  thick,  bullet  head  there  seemed  to 
be  that  primary  germ  of  intelligence  which  was  ap- 
parently lacking  in  the  fair  head  snuggled  on  his 
breast.  It  was  therefore  with  a  mingled  feeling  of 
relief  and  regret  that,  after  a  couple  of  hours  of  con- 
versation, I  saw  him  gently  push  Henrietta  away  and 
announce  his  departure, — relief  from  the  embarrass- 
ment which  this  open  love-making  had  caused  me, 
and  regret  that  I  was  once  more  to  be  left  alone  with 

138 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Henrietta  in  that  dark,  cavernous  house.  It  was 
then  after  midnight,  and  Henrietta  suggested,  as 
brother  Mason  drew  on  his  overcoat,  that  she  ac- 
company him  as  far  as  the  corner  saloon,  where  she 
wanted  to  buy  a  quarter-pint  of  gin ;  and  they  went 
off  together,  leaving  me  alone. 

When  their  resounding  footsteps  had  died  away 
down  the  stairs,  I  picked  up  the  lamp  and  walked 
about,  examining  the  shadowy  corners  of  the  room, 
peering  into  the  black  abyss  of  the  alcove  where  the 
unwholesome  bed  stood,  and  not  neglecting,  like  the 
true  woman  I  was,  to  look  underneath  and  even  to 
poke  under  it  with  the  handle  of  a  broom.  I  raised 
the  windows  and  threw  open  the  batten-shutters,  and 
through  the  darkness  tried  to  measure  the  distance 
to  the  street  below.  Not  only  that,  but  I  also  specu- 
lated upon  being  able  to  climb  out  upon  the  rail- 
road tracks,  should  the  worst  come  to  the  worst. 

What  worst?  What  did  I  fear?  I  don't  know. 
I  did  not  exactty  know  then,  and  I  scarcely  know 
now.  It  may  have  been  the  promptings  of  what  is 
popularly  termed  "  woman's  intuition."  No  more 
do  I  know  why  I  then  and  there  resolved  that  I 
should  sleep  with  my  shoes  and  stockings  on;  and 
further,  if  possible,  I  determined  to  keep  awake 
through  the  long  night  before  me. 

139 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I  closed  the  windows  and  returned  to  a  further  in- 
spection of  the  room,  stopping  before  the  open  trunk 
to  examine  some  of  the  many  books  it  contained. 
One  by  one  I  opened  and  examined  the  volumes ;  a 
few  of  them  were  romances  of  the  Laura  Jean  Libbey 
school  of  fiction,  but  the  majority  were  hymnals  in- 
scribed severalty  on  the  fly-leaf  with  the  names 
"  Faith  Manners,"  "  Hope  Manners,"  "  Patience 
Manners."  Across  the  room  the  bottles  on  the  man- 
tel shone  vaguely  in  the  shadow.  I  carried  the  lamp 
over,  and  placing  it  in  the  little  cleared-out  space 
among  them,  began  to  examine  the  bottles  with  idle 
curiosity.  "Wild  Crab  Apple,"  "Jockey  Club," 
"  Parma  Violet,"  "  Heliotrope,"  I  read  on  the  dainty 
labels,  lifting  out  the  ground-glass  corks  and  smell- 
ing the  lingering  fragrance  which  yet  attached  to 
each  empty  vial.  Of  these  there  must  have  been  two 
dozen  or  more. 

And  there  were  other  bottles,  also  empty,  but  not 
perfume-bottles.  Of  these  others  there  were  more 
than  a  dozen.  At  first  I  did  not  quite  comprehend 
the  purport  of  the  printing  on  their  labels,  and  it 
was  not  until  I  had  studied  some  half  a  dozen  of  them 
that  the  sickening  horror  of  their  meaning  dawned 
upon  me  fully.  There  was  no  mistaking  them ;  the 
language  was  too  unblushingly  plain.    They  were 

140 


THE  LONG  DAY 

the  infamous  nostrums  of  the  malpractitioner ;  and 
in  the  light  of  this  loathsome  revelation  there  was 
but  one  thing  for  me  to  do :  I  had  to  get  out  of  tl^at 
room,  and  before  Henrietta  should  return ;  and  so, 
grabbing  up  my  hat  and  jacket,  I  rushed  in  a  panic 
out  of  the  awful  place  into  the  midnight  blackness  of 
the  empty  street. 


141 


X 

IN  WHICH  I  FIND  MYSELF  A  HOMELESS  WANDERER 
IN  THE  NIGHT 

IN  making  my  escape  I  had  not  counted  upon  my 
chances  of  meeting  Henrietta  returning  from 
the  saloon.  I  had  thought  of  nothing  but  to 
get  as  far  away  as  possible  from  the  horror  of  it  all. 
Dashing  headlong  down  the  street,  I  was  going  I 
knew  not  where,  when  suddenly  Henrietta's  vacuous 
"  tee-hee "  rang  out  in  the  darkness  and  echoed 
among  the  iron  girders  of  the  elevated  trestle ;  and, 
looking  ahead  of  me,  I  saw  her  in  the  light  of  the 
corner  gas-jet  coming  toward  me,  a  man  on  either 
side  of  her,  and  all  three  evidently  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  I  sank  back  into  the  darkness  of  a  doorway 
that  stood  open,  motionless  until  they  had  passed 
and  their  voices  had  died  away. 

In  the  few  minutes  of  waiting,  I  had  collected  my 
wits  sufficiently  to  determine  upon  a  plan  of  action. 
I  would  find  my  way  back  to  the  Jefferson  Market, 

142 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  stay  there  until  daylight,  and  then  go  to  the 
Working  Girls'  Home  recommended  by  the  police 
matron. 

But  no  sooner  had  I  determined  on  this  plan, 
which  was  really  the  only  thing  I  could  have  done, 
than  I  heard  women's  voices  close  at  hand;  and  be- 
fore I  could  creep  out  of  the  doorway,  two  figures, 
groping  up  to  it  through  the  darkness,  dropped 
down  upon  the  threshold.  They  muttered  and 
mumbled  to  each  other  for  a  little  while,  then  their 
deep  breathing  told  me  they  had  fallen  into  a  doze. 

Again  and  again  I  had  crept  out  of  my  hiding- 
place,  looked  at  the  two  bowed,  crouching  figures, 
which  I  could  see  only  in  vague  outline,  and  then 
withdrew  again  into  the  comparative  safety  of  the 
black  hallway.  I  hesitated  to  waken  them,  and  I 
could  not  creep  over  them  asleep — not  until  I  heard 
the  low,  guttural  voice  of  a  drunken  man  in  the 
darkness  above,  and  the  uncertain  shuffle  of  feet  feel- 
ing their  way  to  the  head  of  the  staircase.  Then, 
my  heart  in  my  mouth,  quite  as  much  for  the  fear  of 
what  was  before  me  as  for  what  was  fumbling  about 
in  the  darkness  behind,  I  came  boldly  out  and  stood 
over  the  huddled  figures.  Now  I  saw  that  they  were 
old  women,  very  old,  and  both  fast  asleep,  with  their 
arms  locked  about  each  other  for  protection  against 

143 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  cold.  Both  were  bare-headed  and  scantily 
dressed,  and  each  wore  a  little  wisp  of  gray  hair 
drawn  into  a  button  at  the  back  of  her  head,  just 
as  Mrs.  Pringle  had  worn  hers.  I  touched  the  near- 
est bundle  on  the  shoulder.  She  awoke  with  a  start, 
and  peered  around  at  me  with  a  pitiful  whimper.  I 
explained  that  I  only  wanted  to  pass,  and  that  she 
would  oblige  me  very  much  to  allow  me  to  do  so. 

"  You  want  to  git  out,  do  ye,  dearie?  Well,  you 
jist  shall  git  out,"  came  the  rejoinder  in  a  high, 
quavering  voice,  and  slowly  the  old  woman  lifted  her- 
self, with  many  groans  and  "  ouches  "  for  her  stif- 
fened joints. 

"  Dearie !  dearie !  I  thought  ye  wuz  the  cop,"  the 
old  crone  went  on,  as  she  grasped  my  arm  in  a  hand 
whose  thinness  I  could  feel  through  my  thin  jacket. 
"  A  nice  arm  it  is  ye  have  got,  and  yit  ye  don't  speak 
as  if  ye  be  one  of  we  uns,  be  you?  "  The  withered 
hand  held  me  as  though  in  a  vise,  while  I  could  feel 
the  gin-laden  breath  of  the  unfortunate  creature  as 
she  peered  close  into  my  face. 

"Please — please  let  me  go!"  I  whispered,  for  I 
could  hear  the  stumbling  footsteps  within  near  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs.  "  Please  let  me  go  !  I  must  go 
to  the  drug-store  to  find  a  doctor ;  some  one  is  sick." 

"  Sure,  dearie,  sure !  "  and  the  thin  fingers  relaxed 
144 


THE  LONG  DAY 


their  hold.  4"  Do  ye  know  where  the  drug-store  is? 
and  might  n't  I  make  bold  enough  to  ask  to  go  with 
ye?  It  's  late  for  a  lady  to  be  out,  with  the  streets 
full  of  drunks  and  lazy  longshoremen;  and  I  know 
you  be  a  lady." 

I  was  in  a  quandary.  Naturally  I  did  not  want 
to  accept  this  drunken  woman's  offer  to  pilot  me,  and 
yet  I  really  had  not  the  heart  to  offend  the  old  crea- 
ture, for  there  was  genuine  sympathy  betrayed  in 
her  voice  at  the  mention  of  sickness.  She  seemed  to 
take  my  silence  for  acceptance,  however;  and  placing 
her  arm  on  mine,  conducted  me  down  the  dark  street. 
At  the  corner  we  passed  under  a  gas-lamp,  when  we 
saw  each  other  distinctly  for  the  first  time.  She  was 
dark  and  swarthy,  with  deep-set  black  eyes,  and  her 
thin,  coarse,  bristling  gray  hair,  I  noticed,  was  full 
of  wisps  of  excelsior  and  grass  box-packing.  She 
was  about  sixty-two  or  -three,  and  had  a  spare, 
brawny  frame  with  heavy,  stooped  shoulders.  Evi- 
dently she  had  taken  just  as  careful  an  inventory  of 
my  appearance,  for  we  had  not  gone  far  before  she 
was  giving  me  all  manner  of  good  advice  about  tak- 
ing care  of  myself  in  a  big,  wicked  city,  with  re- 
peated asseverations  that  she  always  knew  a  lady 
when  she  saw  one,  and  that  if  I  was  n't  one  of  that 
enviable  species,  then  her  name  was  n't  Mrs.  Bridget 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Reynolds ;  and  the  latter  being  "  a  proper  married 
woman  and  the  mother  of  a  family  all  dead  now,  God 
rest  their  souls !  "  who  should  know  a  lady  better 
than  she?  And  why  was  Mrs.  Bridget  Reynolds,  a 
proper  married  and  equally  proper  widowed  woman 
of  her  reverend  years,  sitting  upon  a  doorstep  at 
three  o'clock  of  a  cold  March  morning?  Och!  God 
bless  ye,  just  a  little  trouble  with  the  landlord,  no 
work  for  several  weeks,  and  a  recent  eviction;  a 
small  matter  that  had  often  happened  before,  and 
was  like  as  not  to  happen  ag'in,  God  willing !  And 
who  was  Mrs.  Bridget  Reynolds's  sleeping  mate  left 
behind  on  the  doorstep?  Divil  a  bit  did  Mrs.  Brid- 
get Reynolds  know  about  her,  only  that  she  had 
found  her  that  night  in  the  empty  warehouse,  where 
she  had  gone  like  herself  to  sleep,  among  the  pack- 
ing-cases, under  the  straw  and  excelsior,  which  made 
a  bed  fit  for  a  queen,  and  where  they  might  still  have 
been  taking  their  ease  had  not  a  heartless  cop  chased 
them  out,  bad  luck  to  him! 

Such  was  the  gist  of  Mrs.  Reynolds's  discourse. 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  attempt  to  transcribe  her 
rich  brogue  and  picturesque  phraseology ;  and  even 
were  I  able  to  do  so,  it  could  give  the  reader  no  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  wealth  of  optimism  and  cheerful- 
ness that  throbbed  in  her  quavering  voice.  Hers 

146 


THE  LONG  DAY 


could  be  a  violent  tongue,  too,  as  the  several  men  who 
accosted  us  on  our  dark  way  discovered  at  their  first 
approach  to  familiarity ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when 
a  drunken  sailor  leered  up  to  my  side,  Mrs.  Bridget 
spat  at  him  like  an  angry  tabby-cat.  Somehow,  I 
no  longer  felt  afraid  under  her  protection  and  guid- 
ance. 

At  last,  after  a  very  long  walk,  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  brightly  lighted  windows  of  a  drug-store,  and 
Mrs.  Reynolds  said  we  were  on  Bleecker  Street.  I 
had  now  to  explain  that  my  asking  the  way  to  a 
drug-store  had  been  merely  a  bit  of  subterfuge, 
which  I  did  in  fear  and  trembling  as  to  how  Mrs. 
Reynolds  would  accept  such  deception  on  my  part. 
But  she  was  all  good  humor. 

"  Sure,  dearie,  it  's  all  right !  I  'm  glad  to  do  a 
good  turn  for  yez,  being  as  you  're  a  poor  body  like 
mesilf ,  even  if  ye  air  a  lady !  " 

We  were  now  standing  in  the  glare  of  the  big 
colored-glass  carboys  in  the  drug-store  window  at 
the  corner  of  Bleecker  Street  and  some  one  of  its  in- 
tersecting alleys.  It  was  now  four  in  the  morning, 
and  the  streets  were  almost  deserted.  My  compan- 
ion smiled  at  me  with  the  maudlin  tenderness  which 
gin  inspires  in  the  breast  of  an  old  Irishwoman,  and 
as  we  stood  irresolute  on  the  corner  I  noticed  how 

147 


THE  LONG  DAY 


thinly  clad  she  was.  The  sharp  wind  wrapped  her 
calico  skirt  about  her  stiffened  limbs,  and  her  only 
wrap  was  a  little  black  knitted  fascinator  which  did 
not  meet  over  the  torn  calico  blouse. 

"  A  wee  nip  of  gin  would  go  right  to  the  spot 
now,  would  n't  it,  dearie?  "  the  old  soul  asked  wist- 
fully, which  reminded  me  of  something  I  had  for- 
gotten: that  I  still  had  my  precious  dollar  and  a 
half  snugly  stowed  away  in  my  petticoat  pocket. 
So  I  suggested  that  we  go  to  a  lunch-room  and  have 
a  good  meal  and  a  cup  of  hot  coffee,  and  sit  there 
till  daylight,  which  now  was  not  far  off. 

The  prospect  of  something  to  eat  and  something 
hot  to  drink  infused  great  cheerfulness  into  nry 
strange  chaperon ;  she  grasped  my  arm  with  the 
gaiety  of  a  school-girl,  and  we  walked  eastward 
until  we  came  to  a  dairy  lunch-room  upon  the  great 
plate-glass  windows  of  which  was  enameled  in  white 
letters  a  generous  bill  of  fare  at  startlingly  low 
prices.  The  place  was  of  the  sort  where  everybody 
acts  as  his  own  waiter,  buying  checks  for  whatever 
he  wants  from  the  cashier  and  presenting  them  at  a 
long  counter  piled  up  with  eatables.  Mrs.  Reynolds 
was  modesty  itself  in  accepting  of  my  bounty. 

When  we  had  finished  it  was  daylight,  and  I 
parted  from  my  duenna  at  the  door,  she  with  in- 

148 


THE  LONG  DAY 

numerable  terms  of  maudlin  endearment,  and  an 
invocation  to  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar  that  they 
should  keep  a  kindly  eye  upon  me.  As  to  my  own 
feelings,  I  felt  heartless  to  be  obliged  to  leave  the 
poor  creature  with  nothing  more  than  a  twenty-five- 
cent  piece,  and  with  no  proffer  of  future  help — if, 
indeed,  she  was  not  beyond  help.  But  I  was  power- 
less;  for  I  was  as  poor  as  she  was.  I  had  sug- 
gested her  applying  to  the  authorities  for  aid,  but 
she  had  received  it  scornfully,  even  indignantly, 
declaring  that  Mrs.  Bridget  Reynolds  would  die 
and  rot  before  she  'd  be  beholden  to  anybody  for 
charity.  Anything  in  the  shape  of  organized 
authority  was  her  constitutional  enemy,  and  the 
policeman  was  her  hereditary  foe.  Hospitals  were 
nefarious  places  where  the  doctors  poisoned  you  and 
the  nurses  neglected  you  in  order  that  you  should 
die  and  furnish  one  more  cadaver  to  the  dissecting- 
rooms  ;  almshouses  were  the  last  resort  of  the  broken 
in  heart  and  spirit,  institutions  where  unspeakable 
crimes  were  perpetrated  upon  the  old  and  helpless. 
Therefore,  was  it  any  wonder  this  independent  old 
dame  of  Erin  preferred  deserted  warehouses  and 
dark  doorways  as  shelter? 

And  so,  early  in  this  Easter  morning,  I  left  Mrs. 
Bridget  Reynolds  at  the  door  of  the  Bleecker  Street 

149 


THE  LONG  DAY 

lunch-room,  she  to  go  her  way  and  I  to  go  mine.  I 
looked  back  when  I  had  got  half  a  block  away,  and 
she  was  still  standing  there,  apparently  undetermined 
which  way  to  turn.  I  watched  a  moment,  and  pres- 
ently she  ambled  across  the  street  and  rattled  the 
door  of  the  "  ladies'  "  entrance  to  the  saloon  on  the 
corner.  Then  I  turned  my  face  toward  the  redden- 
ing east,  against  which  the  shabby  housetops  and 
the  chimneys  and  the  distant  spires  and  smoke- 
stacks stretched  out  in  a  broken,  black  sky-line.  I 
was  going  to  find  the  home  for  working  girls 
which  the  good  matron  at  Jefferson  Market  had 
recommended,  and  the  address  of  which  I  still  had  in 
the  bottom  of  my  purse. 


150 


XI 


I  BECOME  AN      INMATE      OF  A  HOME  FOR 
WORKING  GIRLS 

THE  spirit  of  the  early  Easter  Day  had 
breathed  everywhere  its  own  ineffable  Sab- 
bath peace,  and  when  at  last  I  emerged 
into  Broadway,  it  was  to  find  that  familiar  thor- 
oughfare strangely  transformed.  On  the  six  days 
preceding  choked  with  traffic  and  humming  with  ten 
thousand  noises,  it  was  now  silent  and  deserted  as  a 
country  lane — silent  but  for  the  echo  of  my  own 
footsteps  upon  the  polished  stone  flagging,  and  de- 
serted but  for  the  myriad  reflections  of  my  own  di- 
sheveled self  which  the  great  plate-glass  windows  on 
either  side  of  the  street  flashed  back  at  me. 

My  way  lay  northward,  with  the  spire  of  Grace 
Church  as  a  finger-post.  Grace  Church  had  be- 
come a  familiar  landmark  in  the  preceding  weeks, 
so  often  had  I  walked  past  it  in  my  hopeless  quest, 
and  now  I  approached  it  as  one  does  a  friend  seen 

151 


THE  LONG  DAY 

suddenly  in  a  crowd  of  strangers.  The  fact  that 
I  was  approaching  an  acquaintance,  albeit  a  dumb 
and  unseeing  one,  now  made  me  for  the  first  time 
conscious  of  my  personal  appearance  so  persistently 
reflected  by  the  shop  windows.  Before  one  of  them 
I  stopped  and  surveyed  myself.  Truly  I  was  a 
sorry-looking  object.  I  had  not  been  well  washed 
or  combed  since  the  last  morning  at  Mrs.  Pringle's 
house ;  for  two  days  I  had  combed  my  long  and 
rather  heavy  hair  with  one  of  the  small  side-combs  I 
wore,  and  on  neither  morning  had  I  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  soap.  And  two  successive  mornings  with- 
out soap  and  the  services  of  a  stout  comb  are  likely 
to  work  all  sorts  of  demoralizing  transformations  in 
the  appearance  of  even  a  lady  of  leisure,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  girl  who  had  worked  hard  all  day  in  a 
dirty  factory. 

Fortunately  the  street  was  deserted.  I  stepped 
into  the  entrance  of  a  big,  red-sandstone  building, 
and  standing  between  the  show-windows,  took  off  my 
hat,  laid  it  on  the  pavement,  and  proceeded  to  unroll 
my  hair  and  slick  it  up  once  more  with  the  aid  of  the 
side-comb,  of  which  I  had  now  only  one  left,  having 
lost  the  other  somewhere  in  my  flight  from  Henri- 
etta's. That  I  should  have  thought  to  put  on  my 
hat  in  preparing  for  that  flight  I  do  not  understand, 

152 


THE  LONG  DAY 

for  I  forgot  my  gloves,  a  brand-new  pair  too;  my 
handkerchief ;  and,  most  needful  of  all  else,  my  rib- 
bon stock-collar,  without  which  my  neck  rose  hor- 
ribly long  and  thin  above  my  dusty  jacket-collar. 
Looking  at  it  ruefully,  I  began  to  feel  for  the  first 
time  what  was  for  me  at  least  the  very  quintessence 
of  poverty — the  absolute  impossibility  of  personal 
cleanliness  and  of  decent  raiment.  I  had  known 
hunger  and  loneliness  since  I  had  come  to  New  York, 
but  never  before  had  I  experienced  this  new,  this  in- 
finitely greater  terror — lack  of  self-respect.  That 
I  had  done  nothing  to  lower  my  self-respect  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,  since  self-respect 
is  often  more  a  matter  of  material  things  than  of 
moral  values.  It  is  possible  for  a  hungry  woman  to 
walk  with  pride,  and  it  is  possible  for  the  immoral 
and  utterly  degraded  woman  to  hold  her  own  with 
the  best  of  her  sisters,  when  it  comes  to  visible  man- 
ifestation of  self-respect,  if  only  she  is  able  to  main- 
tain her  usual  degree  of  cleanliness  and  good  groom- 
ing. But  unacquainted  with  soap  for  two  days ! 
and  without  a  collar!  How  could  I  ever  summon 
courage  to  present  myself  to  anybody  in  such  a  con- 
dition? Had  I  been  an  old  woman,  I  might  n't  have 
cared.  But  I  was  a  girl;  and,  being  a  girl,  I  suf- 
fered all  of  a  girl's  heartache  and  melancholy 

153 


THE  LONG  DAY 

wretchedness  when  I  remembered  that  it  was  Sunday 
and  that  there  was  no  hope  of  buying  either  collar  or 
comb  for  twenty-four  hours — if,  indeed,  I  dared  to 
spend  any  of  my  few  remaining  dimes  and  nickels 
for  these  necessities,  which  had  suddenly  soared  to 
the  heights  of  unattainable  luxuries. 

In  the  full  consciousness  of  my  disreputable  ap- 
pearance, I  hung  in  the  doorway,  reluctant  to  fare 
forth  in  the  cruel  light  of  the  thoroughfare. 
Hitherto  I  had  had  the  street  all  to  myself,  so  it  had 
not  mattered  so  much  how  I  looked.  But  now  an 
empty  car  hurtled  by,  its  gong  breaking  for  the 
first  time  the  silence  of  the  long  vista  stretching 
away  and  dipping  southward  to  the  Battery.  Then 
another  car  came  speeding  along  from  the  opposite 
direction,  whirled  past  Grace  Church,  and  north- 
ward around  the  curve  at  Fourteenth  Street;  and 
following  in  the  wake  of  the  car,  a  hansom-cab  with 
a  jaded  man  and  woman  locked  in  each  other's  arms 
and  fast  asleep.  As  the  latter  passed  close  to  the 
curb,  I  drew  into  the  embrasure  of  the  door  as  far 
as  possible  so  as  to  avoid  being  seen  by  the  cabman 
— as  if  it  made  the  least  difference  whether  he  saw 
me  or  not;  but  such  is  the  all-absorbing  self -con- 
sciousness and  vanity  of  girlhood.  It  was  then  that 
I  noticed  for  the  first  time  the  glaring  sign  that  had 

154 


THE  LONG  DAY 


been  staring  at  me  during  all  these  ineffectual  at- 
tempts to  "  primp." 

"  Wanted — Girls  to  learn  flower-making.  Paid 
while  learning.  Apply  Monday  morning  at  nine 
o'clock." 

I  repeated  the  street-number  over  and  over,  so  as 
to  make  sure  of  remembering  it ;  and  then,  screwing 
up  my  courage,  walked  hurriedly  up  the  street,  try- 
ing to  ignore  the  glances  which  were  cast  at  me  by 
occasional  pedestrians.  I  happened  to  think  of  a 
large  dairy  lunch-room  on  Fourteenth  Street  where 
I  had  several  times  gone  for  coffee  and  rolls,  and 
where  the  cashier  and  waitresses  knew  me  by  sight, 
and  where  I  thought,  by  investing  in  a  cup  of  coffee, 
I  might  tidy  up  a  bit  in  the  toilet-room.  If  only 
the  place  should  be  open  on  Sunday  morning ! 

And  it  was.  The  cashier  had  just  stepped  into 
her  cage-like  desk,  and  the  waitresses  were  lined  up 
in  their  immaculate  white  aprons  and  lace  head- 
dresses. I  was  their  first  customer,  apparently. 
The  cashier,  a  pretty,  amiable  girl,  suppressed  any 
surprise  she  may  have  felt  at  my  appearance,  and 
greeted  me  with  the  same  dazzling  smile  with  which 
she  greeted  every  familiar  face.  I  explained  to  her 
what  I  wanted  to  do,  apologizing  for  my  slovenli- 
ness.   She  was  all  sympathetic  attention,  her  eyes 

155 


THE  LONG  DAY 


snapped  with  good-humored  interest,  and  she  told 
me  to  go  back  and  take  all  the  time  I  wanted  to 
wash  up.  In  a  few  minutes  she  sent  me,  by  one  of 
the  waitresses,  a  fresh  piece  of  soap,  a  comb,  a  bit  of 
pumice-stone,  a  whisk-broom,  a  nail-file,  a  pair  of 
curved  nail-scissors,  a  tiny  paper  parcel  containing 
some  face-powder,  and,  wonder  of  wonders,  a  beauti- 
fully clean,  fresh,  shining  collar! 

Before  the  big,  shimmering  mirrors  I  washed  and 
splashed  to  my  heart's  content  and  to  the  infinite 
advantage  of  my  visage.  How  delicious  it  was  to 
see  and  hear  and  feel  the  clear,  hot  water  as  it  rushed 
from  the  silver  faucet  into  the  white  porcelain  bowl! 
I  washed  and  I  washed,  I  combed  and  I  combed,  until 
there  was  absolutely  no  more  excuse  for  doing 
either;  then  I  powdered  my  face,  just  enough  to 
take  the  shine  off,  filed  my  finger-nails,  brushed  my 
clothing,  put  on  my  borrowed  collar,  and  stepped 
out  into  the  eating-room,  feeling,  if  not  looking, 
like  the  "  perfect  lady  "  which  the  generous-hearted 
cashier  declared  I  resembled  "  as  large  as  life." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  collar;  you  can  just  keep 
it,"  she  said  when  I  returned  her  toilet  articles. 
"  It 's  not  worth  but  a  few  cents,  anyway,  and  I 've 
got  plenty  more  of  them.  .  .  .  Don't  mention  it  at 
all;  you  're  perfectly  welcome.    I  did  n't  do  any- 

156 


THE  LONG  DAY 


thing  more  for  you  than  I 'd  expect  you  to  do  for  me 
if  I  was  in  such  a  pickle.  If  we  working  girls  don't 
stand  up  and  help  one  another,  I  'd  like  to  know 
who 's  going  to  do  it  for  us.  .  .  .  So  long!  " 

"  So  long ! 99  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  I  had 
heard  a  working  girl  deliver  herself  of  that  laconic 
form  of  adieu,  and  heretofore  I  had  always  exe- 
crated it  as  hopelessly  vulgar  and  silly,  which  no 
doubt  it  was  and  is.  But  from  the  lips  of  that  kind- 
hearted  woman  it  fell  upon  my  ears  with  a  sort  of 
lingering  sweetness.  It  was  redolent  of  hope  and 
good  cheer. 

The  home  for  working  girls  I  found,  not  very  far 
away  from  this  lunch-room,  in  one  of  the  streets 
south  of  Fourteenth  Street  and  well  over  on  the 
East  Side.  It  was  a  shabby,  respectable,  unfriendly- 
looking  building  of  red  brick,  with  a  narrow,  black- 
painted  arched  door.  On  the  cross-section  of  the 
center  panel  was  screwed  a  silver  plate,  with  the  name 
of  the  institution  inscribed  in  black  letters,  which 
gave  to  the  door  the  gruesome  suggestion  of  a  coffin 
set  on  end. 

A  polite  pull  at  the  rusty  handle  of  the  bell-cord 
brought  no  response,  and  I  rang  again,  a  little 
louder.  A  chain  was  rattled  and  a  bolt  drawn  back. 
The  lid  of  the  black  coffin  flew  open,  disclosing,  with 

157 


THE  LONG  DAY 

the  suddenness  of  a  jack-in-the-box,  a  withered  old 
beldam  with  a  large  brass  key  clutched  in  a  hand 
that  trembled  violently  with  palsy. 

She  grumbled  inarticulately,  and  with  a  jerk  of 
her  head  motioned  me  into  a  small  room  opening  off 
the  hall,  while  she  closed  and  locked  the  door  with 
the  great  brass  key. 

The  little  reception-room,  or  office,  was  no  more 
cheerful  than  the  front  door,  and,  like  it,  partook 
somewhat  of  an  ecclesiastical  aspect.  Arranged  in 
a  sort  of  frieze  about  the  room  were  a  series  of 
framed  scriptural  texts,  all  of  which  served  to  re- 
mind one  in  no  ambiguous  terms  of  the  wrath  of 
God  toward  the  froward-hearted  and  of  the  eternal 
punishment  that  awaits  unrepentant  sinners.  And 
then,  at  intervals,  the  vindictive  utterances  were 
broken  by  pictures — these,  too,  of  a  religious  or 
pseudo-religious  nature. 

One  of  these  pictures  particularly  attracted  my 
attention.  It  was  entitled  "  Hope  leaning  upon 
Faith,"  and  showed  an  exceedingly  sentimental 
young  girl  leaning  heavily  upon  an  anchor,  her  eyes 
lifted  heavenward,  where  the  sun  was  just  breaking 
through  black  clouds,  and  all  against  a  perspective 
of  angry  sea.  I  was  trying  to  apply  its  symbolism 
to  my  own  case,  when  a  sharp,  metallic  voice  inquired 
abruptly : 

158 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  What  did  you  wish?  " 

I  turned  about  quickly.  A  tall,  hard-faced  wo- 
man of  forty  or  thereabouts  stood  in  the  door,  and 
looked  at  me  coldly  through  spectacles  that  hooked 
behind  ears  the  natural  prominence  of  which  was 
enhanced  by  her  grayish  hair  being  drawn  up 
tightly  and  rolled  into  a  "  bun  99  on  the  very  top  of 
the  head.  She  was  the  personification  of  neatness, 
if  such  be  the  word  to  characterize  the  prim  stiffness 
of  a  flat-figured,  elderly  spinster.  She  wore  large, 
square-toed,  common-sense  shoes,  with  low  heels 
capped  with  rubber  cushions,  which,  as  I  was  shortly 
to  discover,  had  earned  for  the  lady  the  sobriquet  of 
"  Old  Gum  Heels."  What  her  real  name  was  I 
never  found  out.  Nobody  knew.  She  was  the 
most  hated  of  all  our  tormentors ;  and  in  all  of  the 
weeks  I  was  to  remain  in  the  house  over  which  she 
was  one  of  the  supervisors,  I  never  heard  her  re- 
ferred to  by  any  other  than  the  very  disrespectful 
cognomen  already  quoted.    But  I  am  anticipating. 

"  I  would  like  to  get  board  here,"  I  replied  tim- 
idly, for  the  very  manner  of  the  woman  had  in  it  an 
acid-like  quality  which  bit  and  burned  the  sensibil- 
ities like  vitriol  does  the  flesh. 

"  Have  you  any  money  ?  99 

"  Not  very  much." 

"  How  much?  "  she  demanded. 

159 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  About  one  dollar." 

"  What  baggage  have  you  ?  " 

"  None,"  I  replied,  and  related  as  well  as  my  em- 
barrassment would  allow  me  the  story  of  the  fire 
and  of  my  flight  from  Henrietta,  not  forgetting  the 
generosity  of  the  cashier  in  the  dairy  lunch-room. 
She  listened  in  silence,  and  when  I  had  finished  I 
thought  I  saw  the  repression  of  a  smile,  which  may 
or  may  not  have  been  of  the  sardonic  order.  Then 
she  motioned  me  to  follow  her  through  the  long, 
gloomy  hall  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  where,  turning 
an  angle,  we  came  to  a  staircase  down  which  a  flood 
of  sunlight  streamed  from  the  big  window  on  the 
landing.  The  sunlight  showed  walls  of  shimmering 
whitewashed  purity  and  unpainted  oaken  stairs 
scoured  white  as  a  bone.  "  Old  Gum  Heels  "  stopped 
here,  and  was  beginning  to  give  me  directions  for 
finding  the  matron's  room  on  the  floor  above,  when  a 
door  at  the  back  opened  and  a  very  little  girl  ap- 
peared with  a  very  large  pitcher  of  hot  water,  which 
she  held  tight  in  her  arms  as  though  it  were  a  doll, 
jiggling  at  every  step  a  little  of  the  contents  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Julia,  take  this  girl  along  with  you  to  Mrs. 
Pitbladder's  room,  and  tell  her  that  she  wishes  to 
make   arrangements   about  board   and  lodging." 

160 


THE  LONG  DAY 


And  then  to  me :  "  Mrs.  Pitbladder  is  the  matron. 
You  will  pay  your  money  to  her,  and  she  will  tell 
you  the  rules  and  regulations  for  inmates. — And 
then,  Julia,  hurry  back  to  the  kitchen;  I  '11  need 
you  right  away." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  the  child,  timidly,  with  a 
shy  glance  at  me  as  she  proceeded  laboriously  up  the 
stairs.  At  the  landing  she  stopped  to  draw  breath, 
putting  the  pitcher  upon  the  floor  and  relaxing  her 
thin  little  arms.  She  was  such  a  mite  of  a  child, 
hardly  more  than  eight  or  nine,  if  judged  from  the 
size  of  the  spindly,  undeveloped  figure.  This  was 
swaddled  in  the  ugly  apron  of  blue-checked  ging- 
ham, fastened  down  the  back  with  large  bone  but- 
tons, and  so  long  in  the  sleeves  that  the  little  hands 
were  all  but  lost,  and  so  long  in  the  skirt  that  only 
the  ends  of  the  small  copper-toed  shoes  showed  be- 
neath. Judged,  however,  by  the  close-cropped 
head  and  the  little  sallow  face  that  surmounted  the 
aproned  figure,  she  might  have  been  a  woman  of 
twenty-five,  so  maturely  developed  was  the  one,  so 
shrewd  and  knowing  the  other.  The  child  leaned 
her  shoulders  upon  the  whitewashed  wall  and  stared 
at  me  in  bold,  though  not  unfriendly  curiosity, 
which,  undoubtedly,  I  reciprocated.  She  was  evi- 
dently sizing  me  up.    I  smiled,  and  she  screwed  her 


THE  LONG  DAY 


full,  sensitive  mouth  into  a  judicial  expression,  puck- 
ering her  forehead ;  then,  in  a  deep,  contralto  voice, 
she  spoke.  What  she  said  I  did  n't  hear,  or  rather 
did  n't  grasp,  in  my  wonder  at  the  quality  and  tim- 
bre of  that  great  voice,  which,  issuing  from  the 
folds  of  the  checked  apron,  seemed  fairly  to  fill  the 
big  hall  below  and  the  stair-well  above  with  a  deep, 
beautiful  sound.  I  apologized  and  asked  her  to  re- 
peat what  she  had  said. 

"  Your  skirt — it  's  so  stylish,"  she  said,  and  the 
little  hand  stole  out  and  began  stroking  the  snugly- 
fitting  serge  of  that  very  unpretentious  garment. 

"  I 'm  very  glad  you  like  it,"  I  laughed,  "  for  it 's 
the  only  skirt  I  have  "  ;  and  I  picked  up  the  heavy 
pitcher  and  carried  it  up  the  rest  of  the  way,  the 
child  following  me,  holding  up  her  apron  skirts 
with  both  hands  to  keep  from  stumbling,  and  mak- 
ing a  ringing,  metallic  noise  as  the  copper  toes 
struck  the  wood  at  every  rise.  She  took  the  pitcher 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs  without  comment,  but  with 
a  look  full  of  diffident  gratitude.  Stopping  before 
one  of  the  doors,  the  child  rapped  timidly — so  tim- 
idly, in  fact,  that  it  could  scarcely  be  heard.  No 
answer  coming,  she  rapped  again,  this  time  a  little 
louder,  and  a  woman's  shrill  voice  screamed,  "  Come 
in!" 

162 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Mis'  Pitbladder,  the  lady  down-stairs  says  as 
this  is  a  young  girl  what  wants  to  have  a  talk  with 
youse  about  coming  here,"  my  little  guide  an- 
nounced all  in  one  breath,  and  almost  before  the 
door  had  entirely  swung  open  upon  the  group 
within,  consisting  of  an  old  lady  and  two  little  girls. 
The  old  lady  was  in  a  comfortable  state  of  disha- 
bille ;  the  little  girls  each  wore  big  checked  gingham 
aprons  like  Julia's,  and  buttoned  down  the  back 
with  the  same  big,  white  bone  buttons.  One  of  them 
was  waving  Mrs.  Pitbladder's  hair  with  a  crimping- 
iron  which  she  heated  in  a  gas-jet  before  the  bureau ; 
the  other  child  was  laboriously  working  at  one  of  the 
pudgy  hands  with  a  pair  of  nail-scissors. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  and  don't  stand  there  with  the 
door  open,"  mumbled  the  bowed  figure  in  the  arm- 
chair, who  held  a  twisted  bit  of  uncrimped  forelock 
between  her  teeth  to  keep  it  from  getting  mixed  with 
what  was  already  waved,  and  which  fell  over  her 
face  so  that  I  could  not  see  her  features. 

"  So  you  want  to  come  here  to  board  with  us,  my 
dear  ?  "  began  the  masked  one,  which  was  the  signal 
for  an  exchange  of  grave  winks  between  the  hair- 
dresser, the  manicure,  and  the  little  slavey,  Julia, 
who  was  pouring  the  hot  water  into  the  pitcher  on 
the  washstand. 

163 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  If  I  could  arrange  it,"  I  replied  quickly,  taking 
courage  from  the  woman's  kindly  manner  of  putting 
the  question,  which  was  in  such  startling  contrast  to 
that  of  the  dragon  down-stairs. 

"  You  are  a  working  girl,  are  you,  my  dear?  " 

"  I  want  to  be.  I 'm  looking  for  work  now,  and  I 
hope  to  get  a  job  in  a  few  days.  I  understand  your 
rates  are  very  low,  and  that  I  can  live  here  cheaper 
than  almost  anywhere  else." 

"  And  who  sent  you  here,  my  dear?  " 

In  answer  to  this  I  told  her  my  story  almost  in 
totality,  leaving  out  only  such  details  as  could  not 
possibly  have  concerned  her.  Perfect  candor,  I  was 
fast  learning,  was  the  only  way  in  which  one  in  my 
desperate  situation  could  hope  for  any  degree  of 
sympathetic  treatment,  as  the  time  for  all  silly  pride 
was  passed. 

Then  Mrs.  Pitbladder  explained  the  system  upon 
which  the  house  was  run.  I  could  have  a  room  all 
to  myself  for  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week,  or  I  could 
sleep  in  the  dormitory  for  ten  cents  a  night,  or  fifty 
cents  a  week ;  all  terms  payable  in  advance.  The 
latter  fact  she  was  particular  to  impress  upon  me. 
As  to  food,  she  named  a  price  which  fairly  took 
away  my  breath.  Six  cents  each  for  meals — six 
cents  each  for  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper !   I  said 

164 


THE  LONG  DAY 


at  once  I  would  become  a  boarder,  and  that  I  would 
take  a  cot  in  the  dormitory,  for  which  I  would  pay 
from  night  to  night. 

At  this  juncture  the  girl  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  May  finished  undulating  the  last  strand  of 
gray  hair,  and  as  she  lifted  it  off  her  mistress's  face 
that  lady  raised  her  head  and  we  looked  at  each 
other  for  the  first  time.  She  was  somewhere  between 
sixty-five  and  seventy,  and  very  fat.  Mrs.  Pit- 
bladder's  face  was  a  surprise  to  me,  for  all  it  was  a 
round,  red  face — the  very  sort  of  face  in  which  one 
would  have  expected  good  nature  to  repose.  Its 
predominating  features  were  a  huge,  beaked  nose 
and  high  cheek-bones  which  encroached  to  an  alarm- 
ing degree  upon  the  eye-sockets,  wherein  little  dark, 
furtive  eyes  regarded  me  fixedly.  It  was  a  face 
which  even  the  most  unsophisticated  observer  could 
scarcely  fail  to  characterize  as  that  of  a  woman 
hardened  in  every  sort  of  petty  tyranny,  a  woman 
who,  having  the  power  to  make  others  uncomfort- 
able, found  infinite  pleasure  in  doing  so,  quite  apart 
from  any  motive  of  selfish  interest.  To  be  sure,  I 
did  not  read  all  this  in  Mrs.  Pitbladder's  face  by 
the  end  of  our  first  meeting.  The  supreme  ques- 
tion to  be  settled,  the  only  one  which  had  for  me  a 
vital  interest  then,  was  how  long  I  might  still  put  off 

165 


THE  LONG  DAY 


utter  destitution  in  the  event  of  my  not  finding  work 
within  the  ensuing  week. 

The  terms  were  always  in  advance,  Mrs.  Pit- 
bladder  again  repeated,  as  she  entered  my  name  and 
age  in  a  long  book  which  May  brought  from  the 
dark  mahogany  desk  that  matched  the  rest  of  the 
well-made  furniture  in  the  spacious  room.  I  would 
now  pay  her,  she  said,  ten  cents  for  the  bed  I  was  to 
sleep  in  that  night,  and  my  board  money  would  be 
paid  meal  by  meal  to  the  woman  in  charge  of  the 
dining-room.  I  gave  her  a  twenty-five-cent  piece. 
I  had  remaining  three  other  silver  quarters.  I 
watched  my  twenty-five-cent  piece  drop  into  Mrs. 
Pitbladder's  purse,  and  heard  the  greedy  mouth  of 
that  receptacle  snap  shut. 

"  Mintie,"  Mrs.  Pitbladder  spoke  briskly,  "  show 
this  girl  to  the  sitting-room,  and  then  go  and  find 
Mrs.  Lumley  and  tell  her  to  come  to  me  at  once." 

Mintie,  who  had  now  finished  lacing  the  matron's 
shoes,  rose  eagerly  and,  with  a  shy  glance  toward 
me,  made  for  the  door.  I  hesitated,  and  looked  at 
Mrs.  Pitbladder. 

"  You  may  go  now,"  she  said,  with  a  wave  of  the 
pudgy  hand. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  replied,  considerably  abashed, 
quite  as  much  by  the  curious  looks  of  the  little  girls 

166 


THE  LONG  DAY 


as  by  the  annoyance  of  having  to  remind  the  ma- 
tron about  the  fifteen  cents  change  still  due  me — 
"  excuse  me,  but  I  gave  you  twenty-five  cents." 

"  And  I  gave  you  your  change,  my  dear,"  the 
matron  returned  suavely  but  decisively. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  contradicting  you,"  I 
replied  firmly,  and  without  taking  my  eyes  from 
hers,  which  blinked  unpleasantly.  "  You  did  not 
give  me  any  change." 

"  Look  in  your  purse  and  see,"  said  Mrs.  Pit- 
bladder. 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I  will 
do  so  to  satisfy  you  " ;  and  I  opened  the  purse  again 
and  showed  my  three  remaining  silver  pieces,  which 
to  further  satisfy  her  I  took  out  upon  my  palm  and 
then  turned  the  purse's  lining  inside  out. 

But  Mrs.  Pitbladder  did  not  seem  impressed.  I 
for  my  part  resolved  to  be  equally  insistent,  inspired 
as  I  was  with  the  determination  that  comes  to  des- 
perate people.  There  were  fifteen  cents  due  me, 
and  nobody  should  cheat  me  out  of  a  single  one  of 
those  precious  pennies  if  I  could  possibly  prevent  it. 
There  was  a  short  silence  in  which  we  took  each 
other's  measure,  the  children  looking  on  in  evident 
enjoyment  of  the  situation.  Finally  the  old  lady 
opened  the  purse  again  and  gave  me  the  change  due, 

167 


THE  LONG  DAY 


though  she  grumblingly  maintained  that  it  was  I, 
not  she,  who  was  in  error. 

When  the  door  closed  at  last  upon  us,  my  small 
companion  clutched  my  hand  and  gave  it  a  jubilant 
squeeze.  "  Golly !  that  did  me  good,"  she  whis- 
pered as  we  were  going  down-stairs.  "  She  always 
lets  on  to  make  mistakes  about  the  girls'  change, 
only  most  of  'em  is  so  scairt  of  her  they  just  let  her 
beat  them  out  of  it." 

While  the  child  went  to  find  Mrs.  Lumley  I 
waited  in  the  sitting-room.  It  was  an  empty,  ugly 
place,  with  bare  floors  and  whitewashed  walls,  the 
latter  decorated,  like  those  of  the  office,  with  framed 
scriptural  texts.  Its  furniture  consisted  of  sev- 
eral long,  slat-bottomed  settees  and  a  single  large 
rocking-chair  which,  crowded  with  children,  was 
swinging  noisily  over  the  bare  boards.  At  our  en- 
trance the  chair  stopped  rocking,  and  one  of  the 
children  climbed  out. 

It  was  Julia.  She  came  promptly  over  to  my 
side,  while  a  half-dozen  of  the  other  children  jumped 
off  the  benches  and  ran  to  the  rocking-chair  to 
squabble  over  the  question  of  who  should  take  the 
vacant  place. 

"Did  yez  have  a  row?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"  Say,  did  yez?" 

168 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I  evaded  the  question,  thinking  it  neither  advis- 
able nor  proper  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  little 
mite.  To  divert  her  attention,  I  began  question- 
ing her  about  herself  and  her  little  companions — who 
were  they,  what  were  they,  and  how  did  they  come 
to  be  here? 

"  Why,  don't  you  know?  "  the  little  one  asked, 
looking  at  me  in  amazement.    "  We  're  waifs  !  " 
"  Waifs !   What  sort  of  waifs?  " 
"  Why,  just  waifs." 

"  But  I  did  n't  know  this  was  an  orphan-asylum," 
I  said,  looking  about  at  the  children  sitting  in  rows 
of  two  and  three  upon  the  scattered  settees. 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  We  're  not  orfants,"  the  child 
hastened  to  correct  me;  "  we  're  just  waifs." 

"  And  where  are  your  fathers  and  mothers, 
then  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  We  ain't  got  none,"  Julia  replied  promptly, 
the  little  hand  again  stealing  through  the  long 
sleeve  and  stroking  my  much-admired  skirt.  She 
had  now  snuggled  down  beside  me  upon  the  settee, 
and  instinctively,  rather  than  from  any  desire  to 
show  friendliness,  I  drew  my  arm  about  the  small 
shoulders,  which  overture  was  interpreted  as  an  in- 
vitation for  the  cropped  head  to  nestle  closer. 

"  But  if  you  have  n't  father  or  mothers,  then  you 
169 


THE  LONG  DAY 


must  be  orphans,"  I  reasoned, — an  argument  which 
made  Julia  straighten  up  suddenly  and  look  at  me 
in  puzzled  wonderment. 

"  No,  we  ain't  orfants,  neither,  exceptin'  just  a 
few  that  did  onct  have  fathers  and  mothers,  mebbe ; 
but  me  and  May  Wistaria  and  Mintie  Delancy — 
they  was  the  girls  you  seen  up-stairs  in  her  room — 
we  never  did  have  no  fathers  and  mothers,  we  're 
just  waifs,  and  so 's  them  kids  waifs  too  that 's  play- 
ing in  the  rocking-chair.  They  was  all  foundling- 
asylum  kids." 

At  this  moment  a  thick-set  woman  in  a  black 
dress  appeared  in  the  doorway,  winch  was  a  signal 
for  all  the  little  girls  to  make  an  onslaught  upon 
her.  They  twined  their  arms  about  her  large  waist, 
they  hung  three  and  four  upon  each  of  her  gener- 
ous, kindly  arms,  and  the  smaller  girls  held  on  to 
her  skirts. 

Thus  encumbered,  the  good  Mrs.  Lumley  intro- 
duced herself  in  an  asthmatic  voice  which  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  whisper,  and  in  a  manner  as 
kindly  as  it  was  humble.  Then  she  shoved  the  chil- 
dren back  to  their  benches,  and  led  me  up-stairs  to 
the  dormitory ;  showing  me  the  cot  where  I  was  to 
sleep,  the  lavatory  where  I  would  make  my  toilet  in 
the  mornings,  and  the  bath-room  where  I  had  the 

170 


THE  LONG  DAY 

privilege  of  taking  a  bath  once  a  week.  She  also 
told  me  the  rules  of  the  house:  first  bell  at  six 
o'clock,  when  everybody  in  the  dormitory  must  rise 
and  dress;  second  bell  at  half-past  six,  when  every- 
body must  leave  the  dormitory,  not  to  return  until 
bedtime.  As  to  that  hour,  it  came  at  various  times : 
for  the  waifs  it  was  seven  o'clock;  for  the  regular 
lodgers,  ten  o'clock;  and  for  the  transients,  from 
seven  till  twelve  o'clock,  at  which  hour  the  house  was 
closed  for  the  night. 

All  this  Mrs.  Lumley  repeated  in  a  dreary  mono- 
tone which  seemed  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the 
half-concealed  kindliness  which  was  revealed  in  her 
homely  countenance.  She  was  a  working  matron, 
a  sort  of  upper  servant,  and  had  been  three  years  in 
the  place,  which,  I  gradually  gleaned  from  her,  had 
been  started  as  a  home  for  destitute  children  and 
had  eventually  assumed  the  character  and  dis- 
charged the  functions  of  a  girls'  lodging-house. 
Under  what  auspices  the  house  was  conducted  she 
did  n't  know  any  more  than  did  I,  any  more  than  I 
know  to  this  day.  There  was  a  board  of  managers, 
—  ladies  who  sometimes  came  to  look  at  the  dormi- 
tories and  the  bath-rooms  and  then  went  away  again 
in  their  carriages;  there  was  the  matron,  Mrs.  Pit- 
bladder,  who  had  been  there  four  or  five  years,  she 

171 


THE  LONG  DAY 


thought,  but  was  n't  certain ;  there  were  several 
under-matrons,  who  acted  as  teachers  to  the  chil- 
dren. What  did  the  children  study?  Reading  and 
writing  and  arithmetic  and  the  Bible ;  and  then,  as 
soon  as  they  were  old  enough,  they  were  turned  into 
the  sewing-room,  where  they  were  taught  dress- 
making, or  into  the  laundry,  where  they  learned  to 
do  fine  laundry-work. 

All  this  sounded  just  and  good,  and  I  began  to 
alter  my  opinion  of  the  place.  I  even  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Pitbladder  was  merely  ab- 
sent-minded and  a  little  crotchety ;  that  she  had  not 
meant  to  forget  my  fifteen  cents  change.  I  did  not 
know  until  several  days  later  that  the  house  did  a 
large  dressmaking  and  laundry  business,  and  that 
their  advertisement  appeared,  and  does  to  this  day 
appear,  in  all  the  daily  newspapers.  It  was  from 
the  older  girls  in  the  dormitory,  in  whispered  talks 
we  had  at  night  after  we  were  in  bed,  that  I  learned 
this  and  innumerable  other  things,  which  my  own 
observation  during  the  weeks  that  followed  served 
to  confirm. 

To  this  home  for  working  girls  the  waifs,  the 
foundlings,  came  at  all  sorts  of  tender  years,  came 
from  God  only  knows  where — I  could  never  find  out 
exactly — some  of  them,  perhaps,  from  city  asylums, 

172 


THE  LONG  DAY 


some  from  the  families  upon  which  they  had  been 
left  as  an  encumbrance.  They  came  as  little  chil- 
dren, and  they  went  away  as  grown  women.  For 
them  the  home  was  practically  a  prison.  Locked  in 
here  from  morning  till  night,  week  in,  week  out,  year 
after  year,  they  were  prisoners  at  all  save  certain 
stated  times  when  they  were  taken  abroad  for  a  walk 
under  charge  of  the  matrons.  In  return  for  a  scant 
education  in  the  rudimentary  branches,  and  a  very 
generous  tuition  in  the  drudgery  of  the  kitchen,  the 
laundry,  and  the  sewing-room,  they  received  in  all 
these  years  only  their  board  and  clothes  and  a  cer- 
tain nominal  protection  against  the  vices  and  cor- 
ruptions of  the  street  and  the  gutter  from  which 
they  had  been  snatched. 

"  You  won't  eat  here?  99  Mrs.  Lumley  inquired  as 
we  were  going  down-stairs  again.  To  which  I  re- 
plied with  a  "  Yes,  why  not?  I  have  arranged  with 
Mrs.  Pitbladder  to  do  so." 

We  were  on  the  landing  where  the  stairs  turned 
into  the  ground-floor.  She  glanced  apprehensively 
at  Mrs.  Pitbladder's  door,  into  which  a  small  blue- 
aproned  figure  at  this  moment  was  passing  with  a 
tray  laden  with  Mrs.  Pitbladder's  breakfast.  When 
it  had  closed  again,  she  looked  at  me  hesitatingly,  as 

173 


THE  LONG  DAY 


if  fearful  of  taking  me  too  far  into  her  confidence. 
Then,  perhaps  reading  a  certain  unconscious  reas- 
surance there,  she  replied  with  a  brief — 

"  I  would  n't,  if  I  was  you.    You  can't  stand  it." 

"But  I  '11  have  to  stand  it,"  I  returned;  "  I  'm 
as  poor  as  anybody  here." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  But  you  could  n't  work 
on  it — you  're  not  used  to  it.  I  can  see  that.  Be7 
sides,  it  is  n't  so  cheap  as  you  think  it  '11  be.  You 'd 
better  go  out.  I  would  n't  even  eat  here  to-day.  I 
would  n't  begin  it.  There 's  a  little  lunch-room  over 
on  Third  Avenue  where  you  can  get  enough  to  eat, 
and  just  as  cheap  as  here." 

The  woman's  manner  was  so  mysterious,  and 
withal  so  very  earnest,  not  to  say  urgent,  that  I  felt 
instinctively  that  there  was  something  more  in  all 
she  said  than  the  mere  depreciation  of  the  quality  of 
the  victuals  she  warned  me  against.  So  I  was  not 
surprised  when  she  said  slowly  and  insinuatingly, 
as  though  feeling  every  step  of  the  way : 

"  You  know  the  misunderstanding  you  had  this 
morning — about  the  change?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  more  mystified  than  ever. 
Then,  as  she  looked  me  full  in  the  eyes,  light  dawned 
upon  me,  and  I  saw  the  old  woman  up-stairs  in  a 
character  as  startling  as  it  was  infamous. 

174 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Well,"  Mrs.  Lumley  said,  when  she  saw  that  I 
understood;  and  with  that  she  again  dropped  into 
her  habitual  expression  of  bovine  stolidness.  We 
parted  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  to  disappear 
into  the  back  of  the  house,  and  I  to  join  the  waifs  in 
the  unfriendly  sitting-room. 

The  afternoon  I  spent  sitting  in  Union  Square, 
whence  I  went  at  half-past  five  for  a  bite  of  supper 
in  the  dairy  lunch-room  where  I  had  made  my  toilet 
in  the  morning.  I  had  had  no  luncheon,  feeling 
that  I  could  not  afford  more  than  two  meals  a  day 
now.  I  sat  a  long  time  over  my  cup  of  coffee  and 
three  hard  rolls.  I  did  not  want  to  return  to  that 
dreary  house  until  the  lamps  should  be  lighted  and 
it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  The  very  thought  of  re- 
turning to  sit  with  those  forlorn  waifs,  in  that 
cheerless  whitewashed  sitting-room,  was  appalling. 

I  returned  a  few  minutes  before  seven,  just  in 
time  to  hear  the  children  singing  the  last  stanza  of 
"  Beulah  Land  "  as  I  passed  up-stairs  to  the  dormi- 
tory on  the  third  floor.  An  old  woman  sat  outside 
the  door,  crocheting  a  shawl  in  such  light  as  she 
could  get  from  a  blue-shaded  night-lamp  that  hung 
in  the  middle  of  the  great  whitewashed  room  within. 
She  looked  up  from  her  work  long  enough  to  chal- 
lenge me  with  a  shrewd,  impertinent  look  of  inquiry, 

175 


THE  LONG  DAY 


demanded  to  know  if  I  had  any  lead-pencils  about 
my  person,  and,  receiving  a  polite  negative,  allowed 
me  to  pass. 

I  was  not  the  first  arrival.  In  the  dim  light  I 
could  make  out,  here  and  there,  a  bulging  surface 
in  the  row  of  gray-blanketed  cots,  while  in  the  quiet 
I  could  hear  the  deep  breathing  of  the  sleepers.  For 
they  all  seemed  to  be  asleep,  save  one  who  tossed 
from  one  side  to  the  other  and  sighed  wearily. 
The  latter  was  not  far  away  from  my  own  cot,  and 
before  I  had  finished  undressing  she  was  sitting  up 
looking  at  me. 

"  I  'd  give  anything  for  a  drink  of  water,"  she 
said  softly. 

"  Why,  is  there  no  water?  "  I  whispered. 

The  words  were  not  out  of  my  mouth  before  there 
was  a  thumping  upon  the  floor  outside,  and  the  voice 
of  the  beldame  spoke  sharply: 

"  No  talking,  girls  !  " 

The  thirsty  girl  dropped  back  to  her  pillow,  and 
I  crept  under  the  blanket.  Later  on  I  learned  that 
each  must  have  her  drink  of  water  before  entering 
the  dormitory,  because,  once  there,  it  was  an  iron- 
clad rule  that  we  should  not  leave  until  after  the 
rising-bell  had  rung  at  six  the  next  morning.  I  also 
learned,  later  on,  that  had  there  not  been  also  an 

176 


THE  LONG  DAY 


iron-clad  rule  against  carrying  lead-pencils  into  the 
dormitory,  the  snowy-white  walls  were  like  as  not  to 
be  scrawled  with  obscenities  during  the  night  hours. 

All  sorts  of  girls  seeking  a  night's  refuge  drifted 
into  this  working-girls'  home.  Most  of  them  were 
"  ne'er-do-weels  " ;  some  of  them  were  girls  of  lax 
morality,  though  very  few  were  essentially  "  bad." 
When,  however,  they  did  happen  to  be  "  bad,"  they 
were  very  bad  indeed.  And  these  lead-pencil  in- 
scriptions they  left  behind  them  were  the  frightful 
testimony  of  their  innate  depravity. 

Fortunately  for  me,  I  was  quite  ignorant  on  this 
first  night  of  what  the  character  of  the  girls  under 
the  gray  blankets  might  in  all  possibility  have  been, 
and  I  settled  myself  to  go  to  sleep  with  the  thought 
that  a  working-girls'  home  was  not  half  bad,  after 
all. 

A  little  while  later  there  was  a  fresh  burst  of 
childish  voices  and  the  clatter  of  shoes  on  the  stairs. 
It  was  the  orphans  marching  up  to  bed  singing 
"  Happy  Day ! "  The  music  stopped  when  they 
reached  the  dormitory  door,  which  they  entered  si- 
lently, two  by  two.  Their  undressing  was  but  the 
matter  of  a  few  moments,  so  methodical  and  precise 
was  every  movement.  The  small  aprons  and  petti- 
coats were  folded  across  the  foot  of  each  cot,  and, 

12  -j^Y 


THE  LONG  DAY 


on  top,  the  long  black  stockings  laid  neatly.  Each 
pair  of  copper-toed  shoes  was  placed  in  exactly  the 
same  spot  under  the  foot  of  each  cot,  and  each  little 
body,  after  wriggling  itself  into  a  gray  flannellet 
nightgown,  dropped  to  its  knees  and  bowed  its  head 
upon  the  blanket  in  silent  prayer. 

After  they  had  tucked  themselves  in  bed  a  voice 
very  near  me,  and  which  I  recognized  as  Julia's, 
whispered : 

"  May,  are  yez  asleep  ?  99 

"No,"  muttered  May. 

"  Say,  is  to-morrow  bean  day  or  molasses  day  ?  99 
"  Bean,"  replied  May ;  and  then  all  was  silent  in 
the  dormitory,  and  so  remained  save  for  the  inter- 
ruption caused  by  the  tiptoe  entrance  of  some  newly 
arrived  "  transient,"  some  homeless  wanderer  driven 
here  to  seek  a  night  refuge. 

In  the  morning  we  washed  and  combed  in  a  large 
common  toilet-room.  There  were  only  a  dozen  face- 
bowls,  and  these  we  had  to  watch  our  chance  to 
pounce  upon.  I  waited  until  the  rush  was  over, 
and  after  the  orphans  had  scurried  down  to  their 
breakfast  I  performed  a  more  leisurely  toilet.  Two 
other  girls  were  there,  doing  the  same  thing.  I 
recognized  them  as  transient  lodgers,  like  myself, 
wanderers  that  had  drifted  in. 

178 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Both  were  very  young,  and  one,  whom  I  had 
heard  sigh,  and  who  groaned  continuously  in  her 
sleep,*  very,  very  pretty.  The  latter  entered  into 
conversation  as  we  combed  before  the  long,  narrow 
glass.  "Do  you  stay  here  all  the  time?  99  I  asked. 
No,  she  had  been  living  with  her  "  lady-friend  " ; 
and  that  lady-friend  having  departed  to  the  coun- 
try for  lack  of  employment  until  times  would  pick 
up,  she  was  looking  about  for  a  boarding-house. 
The  subject  of  work  gave  me  my  opportunity,  and 
I  asked  her  if  she  knew  of  a  job.  She  shook  her 
head.  She  was  a  skirt-hand;  she  had  worked  in  a 
Broadway  sweat-shop,  and  did  n't  know  anything 
about  any  other  sort  of  work.  As  we  talked  she  fin- 
ished her  toilet,  putting  on  as  the  finishing  touch  a 
great  picture-hat  and  a  scanty  black  Eton.  Ready 
for  the  street,  you  would  have  little  dreamed  that 
she  had  slept  in  a  ten-cent  lodging-house.  After 
going  through  a  sort  of  inspection  by  the  old  wo- 
man at  the  entrance,  during  which  it  was  ascertained 
we  had  not  pilfered  anything,  we  were  allowed  to 
depart. 


179 


XII 


IN  WHICH  I  SPEND  A  HAPPY  FOUR  WEEKS  MAKING 
ARTIFICIAL  FLOWERS 

BRIGHT  and  early,  after  a  four-cent  break- 
fast, I  was  on  my  way  to  find  the  place 
'  where  I  had  read  the  sign,  "  Flower-makers 
Wanted. — Paid  while  learning." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find,  even  had  I  not  had  the 
number  so  securely  tucked  away  in  my  memory. 

"  Flowers  &  Feathers,"  in  giant  gilded  letters,  I 
read  a  block  away,  as  I  dodged  electric  cars  and 
motor  vehicles,  and  threaded  the  maze  of  delivery 
wagons  and  vans.  I  had  a  hasty  interview  with  the 
superintendent,  a  large  and  effusively  polite  man, 
whose  plump  white  hands  sparkled  with  gems.  He 
put  me  on  the  freight-elevator  and  told  the  boy  to 
show  me  to  Miss  Higgins.  At  the  third  floor  the 
iron  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  I  stepped  into 
what  seemed  to  be  a  great,  luxuriant  garden.  The 
room  was  long  and  wide,  and  golden  with  April  sun- 

180 


THE  LONG  DAY 

shine,  and  in  the  April  breeze  that  blew  through  the 
half -open  windows  a  million  flowers  fluttered  and 
danced  in  the  ecstacy  of  spring.  Flowers,  flowers, 
flowers  everywhere;  piled  high  on  the  tables,  tossed 
in  mad  confusion  on  the  floor,  and  strung  in  long 
garlands  to  the  far  end  of  the  big  room. 

"  The  lady  with  the  black  hair,  sitting  down  there 
by  them  American  Beauties,"  said  the  elevator-boy, 
waving  his  hand  toward  the  rear. 

I  passed  down  a  narrow  path  between  two  rows  of 
tables  that  looked  like  blossoming  hedges.  Through 
the  green  of  branches  and  leaves  flashed  the  white 
of  shirt-waists,  and  among  the  scarlet  and  purple  and 
yellow  and  blue  of  myriad  flowers  bobbed  the  smiling 
faces  of  girls  as  they  looked  up  from  their  task  long 
enough  to  inspect  the  passing  stranger.  Here  were 
no  harsh  sounds,  no  rasping  voices,  no  shrill  laugh- 
ter, no  pounding  of  engines.  Everything  just  as 
one  would  expect  to  find  it  in  a  flower-garden — soft 
voices  humming  like  bees,  and  gentle  merriment  that 
flowed  musically  as  a  brook  over  stones. 

"  The  lady  with  the  black  hair "  sat  before  a 
cleared  space  on  a  table  banked  on  either  side  with 
big  red  roses.  In  front  of  her  were  three  or  four 
glasses,  each  containing  one  salmon-colored  rose, 
fresh  and  fragrant  from  the  hothouse. 

181 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Leaning  forward,  with  her  elbows  on  the  table 
and  her  chin  in  her  palm,  she  was  staring  intently  at 
these  four  splendid  blooms.  Then  she  picked  up  a 
half -finished  muslin  rose  and  compared  them.  All 
this  I  saw  while  I  waited  timidly  for  her  to  look  up. 
But  she  did  not  see  me.  She  was  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  the  living  rose.  At  last  I  summoned  cour- 
age to  inquire  if  she  was  Miss  Higgins.  She  started, 
looked  up  quickly,  and  nodded  her  head,  with  a  smile 
that  displayed  a  row  of  pretty  teeth.  Her  manner 
was  cordial. 

"  Have  you  ever  worked  at  flowers  before?  "  she 
asked. 
"  No." 

"  Ever  worked  at  feathers  ?  " 
"  No." 

"  Well,  the  best  I  can  do  is  to  put  you  at  blossom- 
making  to-day,  and  see  how  you  take  to  it.  It  's 
too  bad,  though,  you  don't  know  anything  about 
feathers ;  for  the  flower  season  ends  in  a  month,  any- 
way, and  then  I  have  to  lay  off  all  my  girls  till  Sep- 
tember, unless  they  can  make  feathers  too.  Then 
they  get  jobs  on  the  next  floor.  There  '11  be  lots  of 
work  here,  though,  for  a  month,  and  we  might  take 
you  back  in  September." 

The  tone  was  so  kindly,  the  interest  so  genuine, 
182 


THE  LONG  DAY 


that  I  was  prompted  to  explain  my  situation,  assur- 
ing her  I  should  be  glad  to  get  work  even  for  four 
weeks.  As  a  result,  I  was  put  on  Rosenfeld's  pay- 
roll for  three  and  a  half  dollars  per  week,  with  half 
a  day's  extra  pay  for  night  work:  the  latter 
had  been  a  necessity  three  or  four  nights  every  week 
for  six  months,  and  was  likely  to  continue 
for  two,  maybe  three,  weeks  longer.  Besides  the 
assurance  of  extra  pay  from  this  source,  Miss 
Higgins  also  intimated,  as  she  conducted  me  to  one 
of  the  tables,  that  if  I  was  "  able  to  make  good  99 
she  would  raise  me  to  four  dollars  at  the  end  of  the 
week. 

Soon  I  was  "  slipping  up  99  poppies  under  the  in- 
struction of  Bessie,  a  dreamy-eyed  young  Jewess. 
The  process  was  simple  enough,  to  watch  the  skilled 
fingers  of  the  other  girls,  but  it  was  very  tedious  to 
my  untried  hand.  In  awkward,  self-conscious 
fashion  I  began  to  open  out  the  crimped  wads  of 
scarlet  muslin  which  came  to  us  hot  from  the  crimp- 
ing-machine. 

"  You  must  n't  smooth  the  creases  out  too  much," 
Bessie  protested;  and  with  a  deft  touch,  the  right 
pull  here,  the  proper  flattening  there,  the  muslin 
scrap  blossomed  into  a  fluttering  corolla. 

"  Don't  get  discouraged.  We  've  all  got  to 
183 


THE  LONG  DAY 


learn,"  one  of  the  girls  at  the  far  end  of  the  table 
called  out  cheerily. 

"  Yes,  and  don't  be  afraid  of  making  a  mistake," 
put  in  my  vis-a-vis,  a  pretty  Italian.  "  We  all  make 
mistakes  while  we  're  learning;  but  you  '11  find  this 
a  nice  place  to  work,  and  Miss  Higgins  is  so  lovely — 
she 's  awful  nice,  too,  to  the  new  girls." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  added  Bessie.  "  It  is  n't  many 
years  since  she  worked  at  the  table  herself.  I  've 
often  heard  her  tell  about  the  first  day  she  went  to 
work  down  at  Golderberg's." 

"  That  's  the  worst  in  town,"  piped  another ;  "  I 
stayed  there  just  two  days.  That  was  enough  for 
me.  Whenever  the  girls  disagree  down  there,  they 
step  out  into  the  hall  and  lick  each  other.  First  day 
I  was  there,  one  girl  got  two  ribs  broken.  Her 
rival  just  walked  all  over  her." 

"  What  did  they  do  with  the  girls?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  They  made  it  all  up,  and  were  as 
sweet  as  two  turtle-doves,  walking  around  the  work- 
room with  their  arms  around  each  other." 

"  Well,  that  's  what  it  is  to  work  in  those  cheap 
shops,"  commented  Annie  Welshons,  of  the  big  blue 
eyes  and  yellow  hair.  "  If  they  ever  do  get  respect- 
able girls,  they  won't  stay  long." 

As  we  worked  the  conversation  ran  easily.  The 
184 


THE  LONG  DAY 


talk  was  in  good,  up-to-date  English.  There  was 
rarely  a  mispronounced  word,  or  a  slip  in  grammar ; 
and  there  was  just  enough  well-selected  slang  to 
make  the  dialogue  bright  and  to  stamp  the  chatter- 
ers as  conversant  with  the  live  questions  of  the  day. 
The  topics  at  all  times  bespoke  clean  minds  and  an 
intelligent  point  of  view. 

"Are  you  American  born?"  Bessie  inquired  by 
and  by. 

The  question  sounded  unusual,  almost  unneces- 
sary, until  I  discovered  that  out  of  the  eight  girls 
in  our  immediate  circle,  only  half  were  native  Amer- 
icans. My  vis-a-vis,  Therese,  was  a  Neapolitan; 
Mamie,  a  Genoese ;  Amelia  was  born  in  Bohemia ; 
the  girl  with  the  yellow  hair  was  North  German; 
and  Nellie  declared  she  was  from  County  Killarney 
and  mighty  glad  of  it. 

"  Well,  I  'm  an  American,"  said  Bessie,  tossing 
her  head  in  mock  scorn,  as  she  cleared  away  a  quan- 
tity of  the  flowers  that  had  been  meanwhile  accumu- 
lating on  the  wire  lines. 

Therese  laughed.  "  But  only  by  the  skin  of  your 
teeth — an  eleventh-hour  arrival."  Then  she  turned 
to  me  and  whispered  that  Bessie  was  born  only  two 
weeks  after  her  mother  came  to  this  country. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  laughed  Bessie,  casting 
185 


THE  LONG  DAY 

a  backward  and  withering  glance  at  the  aliens  as  she 
moved  away  with  her  trayful  of  scarlet  blossoms  to 
the  branchers'  table,  where  another  relay  of  workers 
twisted  green  leaves  among  the  scarlet  and  tied  them 
in  wreaths  and  bunches. 

By  eleven  o'clock  I  had  made  two  dozen  poppies, 
which  Amelia  told  me  was  "  just  grand  for  a  be- 
ginner." I  began  to  feel  confident  that  I  should 
hold  the  job,  and  my  fingers  flew.  Into  the  glue-pot 
at  my  right  hand  I  dipped  my  little  finger,  picking 
up  at  the  same  moment  with  my  other  hand  a  bit  of 
paper-covered  wire.  On  the  end  of  the  wire  was  a 
bunch  of  short  yellow  threads,  which  were  touched 
lightly  with  my  glue-smeared  finger,  the  wire  being 
held  between  the  thumb  and  forefinger.  With  the 
free  left  hand,  I  caught  up  a  fluttering  corolla, 
touching  its  perforated  center  with  glue;  then  I 
"  slipped  up "  the  wire  about  an  inch,  took  up 
another  corolla  in  the  same  way,  and  then  drew  the 
two  to  the  "  pipped  "  or  heart  end  of  the  wire,  where 
they  now  became  a  big  red  flower  with  a  golden 
eye.  A  bit  of  dark-green  rubber  tubing  drawn 
over  the  wire  completed  the  process,  the  end  was  bent 
into  a  hook,  and  the  full-blown  poppy  hung  on  the 
line. 

At  a  quarter  past  eleven  a  little  girl  wearing  an 
186 


THE  LONG  DAY 


immense  flower-hat  and  carrying  a  large  market- 
basket  came  and  asked  us  for  our  lunch  orders.  She 
carried  a  long  piece  of  pasteboard  and  wrote  as  the 
girls  dictated.  One  could  buy  anything  one  wanted. 
Bessie  explained;  bread  and  butter,  eggs,  chops, 
steak,  potatoes,  canned  goods,  for  which  there  was 
ample  provision  for  cooking  on  the  gas-stoves  used 
by  the  rose-makers  to  heat  their  pincers.  When  the 
little  girl  was  gone  I  learned  that  she  was  one  of  the 
errand-runners,  and  that  this  was  her  daily  task. 

"  How  far  does  she  go  to  market?  99 

"  Over  to  First  Avenue." 

"  Is  n't  that  pretty  far  for  a  small  girl  to  carry 
such  a  heavy  load?  " 

"  Oh,  she  does  n't  mind  it.  All  the  errand-girls 
are  tickled  to  death  to  get  the  job.  The  grocers 
pay  them  ten  per  cent,  commission  on  all  they  buy." 

It  lacked  but  a  few  minutes  of  twelve  when  the 
child  returned,  panting  under  her  burden. 

"  How  much  did  you  clear  to-day  ?  "  somebody 
asked. 

"  Twenty-one  cents,"  the  child  answered,  blush- 
ing as  red  as  the  poppies. 

When  Miss  Higgins  slipped  her  tall,  light  figure 
into  her  stylish  jacket  and  began  to  pin  on  her  hat 
it  was  always  a  sign  that  the  lunch-hour  had  come. 

187 


THE  LONG  DAY 

One  hundred  and  twenty  girls  popped  up  from  their 
hiding-places  behind  the  hedges,  which  had  grown  to 
great  height  since  morning.  In  a  trice  spaces  were 
cleared  on  the  tables.  Cups  and  saucers  and  knives 
and  forks  appeared  as  if  by  magic.  In  that  por- 
tion of  the  room  where  the  crimping-machines  stood 
preparations  for  cooking  commenced.  The  pincers 
and  tongs  of  the  rose-makers,  and  the  pressing- 
molds  of  the  leaf -workers,  were  taken  off  the  fires, 
and  in  their  place  appeared  stew-pans  and  spiders, 
and  pots  and  kettles.  Bacon  and  chops  sputtered, 
steak  sizzled;  potatoes,  beans,  and  corn  stewed  mer- 
rily. What  had  been  but  lately  a  flower-garden,  by 
magic  had  become  a  mammoth  kitchen  filled  with  ap- 
petizing sounds  and  delicious  odors.  White-aproned 
cooks  scurried  madly.  It  was  like  a  school-girls' 
picnic.  As  they  moved  about  I  noticed  how  well 
dressed  and  neat  were  my  shop-mates  in  their  white 
shirt-waists  and  dark  skirts.  Indeed,  in  the  country 
village  I  had  come  from  any  one  of  them  would  have 
appeared  as  the  very  embodiment  of  fashion. 

Cooked  and  served  at  last,  we  ate  our  luncheon  at 
leisure,  and  with  the  luxury  of  snowy-white  table- 
cloths and  napkins  of  tissue-paper,  which  needs  of 
the  workroom  were  supplied  in  prodigal  quantities. 

During  this  hour  I  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
188 


THE  LONG  DAY 


girls  and  their  work.  They  told  me,  as  they  told 
all  new-comers,  of  the  wonderful  rise  of  Miss  Hig- 
gins,  who  began  as  a  table-worker  at  three  and  a  half 
dollars  a  week,  and  was  now  making  fifty  dollars. 
They  told  me  of  her  rise  from  the  best  rose-maker  in 
New  York  to  designer  and  forewoman.  They  dwelt 
on  her  kindness  to  everybody,  discussed  her  pretty 
clothes,  and  wondered  which  of  her  beaux  she  was 
going  to  marry. 

All  afternoon  I  "  slipped  up  "  poppies.  At  five 
Miss  Higgins  came  to  tell  me  I  was  "  doing  fine," 
and  that  I  should  have  four  dollars  instead  of  three 
and  a  half.  This  made  the  work  easier  than  ever, 
and  my  fingers  flew  happily  till  six  o'clock.  Then 
we  cooked  dinner  as  we  did  our  luncheon,  but  we  took 
only  half  an  hour  for  our  evening  meal,  so  as  to  get 
off  at  half-past  nine  instead  of  ten.  At  night  the 
work  was  harder,  as  the  room  became  terribly  hot 
from  the  gas-j  ets  and  from  the  stoves  where  the  rose- 
makers  heated  their  tools.  The  faces  grew  tired 
and  pale,  and  the  girls  sang  to  keep  themselves 
awake.  "  The  Rabbi's  Daughter,"  "  The  City  of 
Sighs  and  Tears,"  and  "  The  Banquet  in  Misery 
Hall "  were  the  favorite  songs.  A  rising  breeze 
swept  up  Broadway,  now  almost  deserted,  and 
rushed  through  the  windows,  setting  all  our  blos- 

189 


THE  LONG  DAY 


soms  fluttering.  Outside  a  soft,  warm  spring  rain 
began  to  fall  on  the  tired,  sleepy  city. 

One  week,  two  weeks,  passed  in  these  pleasant  sur- 
roundings. I  was  still  "  slipping  up  "  poppies  all 
day  long,  and  every  evening  till  half-past  nine. 
Then  I  went  home  to  the  little  cot  in  the  dormitory 
of  the  "  home."  It  would  seem  that  all  the  world's 
wife  and  daughters  were  to  wear  nothing  but  pop- 
pies that  season.  But  ours  was  only  a  small  portion 
of  Rosenfeld's  output.  Violets,  geraniums,  forget- 
me-nots,  lilies-of-the-valley,  apple-blossoms,  daisies, 
and  roses  of  a  score  of  varieties  were  coming  to  life 
in  this  big  garden  in  greater  multitudes  even  than 
our  common  poppies.  Forty  girls  worked  on  roses 
alone.  The  rose-makers  are  the  swells  of  the  trade. 
They  are  the  best  paid,  the  most  independent,  and 
always  in  competitive  demand  during  the  flower  sea- 
son. Any  one  can  learn  with  patience  how  to  make 
other  kinds  of  flowers;  but  the  rose-maker  is  born, 
and  the  thoroughly  experienced  rose-maker  is  an 
artist.  Her  work  has  a  distinction,  a  touch,  a 
"  feel,"  as  she  calls  it,  which  none  but  the  artist  can 
give. 

The  star  rose-maker  of  the  shop,  next  to  the  fore- 
woman (who  was  reputed  the  finest  in  America), 

190 


THE  LONG  DAY 


was  about  twenty-five.  Her  hair  was  fluffy  and 
brown,  and  her  eyes  big  and  dark  blue.  She  was  of 
Irish  birth,  and  had  been  in  America  about  fourteen 
years.  One  day  I  stopped  at  her  chair  and  asked 
how  long  it  took  her  to  learn. 

"  I 'm  still  learning,"  she  replied,  without  looking 
up  from  the  tea-rose  in  her  fingers.  "  It  was  seven 
years  before  I  considered  myself  first-class;  and 
though  I  'm  at  it  now  thirteen,  I  don't  consider  I 
know  it  all  yet."  She  worked  rapidly,  flecking  the 
delicate  salmon-colored  petals  with  her  glue-finger, 
and  pasting  them  daintily  around  the  fast-growing 
rose.  I  watched  her  pinch  and  press  and  crease 
each  frail  petal  with  her  hot  iron  instruments,  and 
when  she  had  put  on  a  thick  rubber  stem  and  hung 
the  finished  flower  on  the  line  she  looked  up  and 
smiled. 

"Want  to  see  a  rose-maker's  hand?"  she  re- 
marked, turning  her  palm  up  for  my  inspection. 
She  laughed  aloud  at  my  exclamation  of  horror. 
Calloused  and  hard  as  a  piece  of  tortoise-shell,  ridged 
with  innumerable  corrugations,  and  hopelessly  dis- 
colored, with  the  thumb  and  forefinger  flattened  like 
miniature  spades,  her  right  hand  had  long  ago  lost 
nearly  all  semblance  to  the  other. 

"  It  is  the  hot  irons  do  that,"  she  said,  drawing 
191 


THE  LONG  DAY 


her  pincers  from  the  fire  and  twirling  them  in  the  air 
until  they  grew  cool  enough  to  proceed  with  the 
work.  "  We  use  them  every  minute.  We  crease 
the  petals  with  them,  and  crinkle  and  vein  and  curl 
the  outer  edges.  And  we  always  have  to  keep  them 
just  hot  enough  not  to  scorch  the  thin  muslin." 

"  How  many  can  you  make  a  day  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  the  rose.  This  sort — "  pick- 
ing up  a  small,  cheap  June  rose — "  this  sort  a  fair 
worker  can  make  a  gross  of  a  day.  But  I  have  made 
roses  where  five  single  flowers  were  considered  a  fine 
day's  job.  Each  of  those  roses  had  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  pieces,  however;  and  there  were 
eighteen  different  shapes  and  sizes  of  petals;  and 
besides  that,  every  one  of  those  pieces  had  to  be  put 
in  its  own  place.  If  one  piece  had  been  wrongly  ap- 
plied, the  whole  rose  would  have  been  spoiled.  But 
they  don't  make  many  of  such  complicated  roses  in 
this  country.  They  have  to  import  them.  They 
have  n't  enough  skilled  workers  to  fill  big  orders,  and 
it  does  n't  pay  the  manufacturers  to  bother  with 
small  orders." 

The  girl  did  all  the  fine  work  of  the  place,  and  had 
always  more  waiting  to  be  done  than  she  could  have 
accomplished  with  four  hands  instead  of  two.  She 
had  no  rival  to  whom  this  surplus  work  could  be 

192 


THE  LONG  DAY 


turned  over.  The  dull  season  had  no  terrors  for 
her,  nor  would  it  have  had  for  her  comrades  had  they 
been  equally  skilled.  She  made  from  twenty-two 
to  twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  all  the  year  round,  and 
was  too  busy  ever  to  take  a  vacation.  The  other 
girls  averaged  nine  dollars,  and  if  they  got  eight 
months'  work  a  year  they  considered  themselves  for- 
tunate. They  were  clever  and  industrious,  but  they 
had  not  learned  to  make  the  finer  grade  of  roses. 

The  third  week  came  and  went  all  too  quickly,  and 
we  were  now  entering  on  the  fourth.  Plainly  the 
season  was  drawing  to  its  close.  The  orders  that 
had  come  pouring  in  from  milliners  and  modistes  all 
over  the  land  for  six  months  were  now  dwindling 
daily.  The  superintendent  and  the  "  boss  "  walked 
through  the  department  every  day,  and  we  heard 
them  talk  about  overproduction.  Friday  the  atmo- 
sphere was  tense  with  anxiety.  The  girls'  faces 
were  grave.  Almost  without  exception,  there  were 
people  at  home  upon  whom  this  annual  "  lay-off  " 
fell  with  tragic  force.  I  have  not  talked  with  one 
of  them  who  did  not  have  to  work,  and  they  have  al- 
ways some  one  at  home  to  care  for.  A  few  were 
widows  with  small  children  at  home  or  in  the  day 
nursery.  One  can  tell  little,  by  their  appearance, 
about  these  secret  burdens.   Each  girl  wears  a  mask. 

13  193 


THE  LONG  DAY 


The  neat  costume,  made  with  her  own  hands  in  mid- 
night hours  snatched  from  hard-earned  rest,  is  no 
evidence  of  extravagance,  or  even  of  comfortable 
circumstances.  It  is  only  that  manifestation  of 
proper  pride  and  self-respect  which  the  best  type 
of  wage-earning  woman  is  never  without.  If  they 
sometimes  talk  happily  about  theaters  and  parties 
and  beaux,  if  occasionally  there  is  a  brief  spell  of 
innocent  hilarity  in  the  workroom,  it  is  only  the 
inevitable  and  legitimate  outcropping  of  healthy 
and  wholesome  animal  spirits,  of  a  vigorous  hope 
which  not  even  the  hard  conditions  of  life  can  crush. 

On  Saturday  morning  many  of  the  girls  sat  idle. 
"Don't  work  too  fast,  or  you  '11  work  yourself  out 
of  a  job,"  one  cried  in  jest;  but  the  meaning  was 
one  of  dead  earnest.  And  as  the  day  passed  the 
prophecy  came  true  to  one  after  another.  In  the 
afternoon  we  made  a  feint  of  work  by  papering 
wires  and  opening  petals  for  those  who  were  still 
busy.  The  hours  passed  drearily.  Miss  Higgins 
was  going  over  her  pay-roll,  checking  off  the  names 
of  the  girls  who  could  make  feathers  as  well  as 
flowers.  All  others  were  to  be  laid  off  indefinitely 
that  night.  We  watched  anxiously  for  the  moment, 
which  was  not  far  off. 

"  I  hope  Miss  Higgins  won't  cry — she  did  last 
194 


THE  LONG  DAY 


year.  It  breaks  her  up  terribly  to  let  us  off,"  some- 
body remarked. 

"  It  's  a  long  time  to  be  idle — till  September,"  I 
suggested  to  the  girl  across  the  work-table.  She 
looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Idle ! 99  she  exclaimed.  "  But  we  are  never  idle. 
We  dare  n't.    We  get  other  jobs." 

"  What?  " 

"  Oh,  everything :  waitress  in  a  summer  board- 
ing-house, novelty  goods,  binderies,  shirt-waists, 
stores,  anything  we  can  get." 

"  She  's  coining,"  some  one  whispered.  Every- 
body tried  to  look  unconcerned.  Those  who  had  no 
work  to  claim  attention  looked  carefully  at  their 
finger-nails,  or  found  sudden  necessity  to  adjust 
collars  and  belts.  Miss  Higgins  passed  along  the 
tables,  bending  over  the  heads  and  speaking  to  each 
in  a  low  voice.  The  tears  were  running  down  her 
cheeks.  Those  retained  concealed  their  happiness 
as  best  they  could,  and  spoke  words  of  sympathy 
and  encouragement  to  their  less  fortunate  compan- 
ions. The  warrants  were  received  with  a  stoicism 
that  was  more  pathetic  than  tears.  From  the  far 
end  of  the  room  I  heard  an  unaccustomed  sound, 
and  turning,  I  saw  the  forewoman,  who  had  dropped 
into  a  chair  at  the  forget-me-not  table,  her  face 

195 


THE  LONG  DAY 

buried  in  her  arms,  and  sobbing  like  a  child.  It  was 
the  signal  that  her  cruel  duty  was  done,  that  the 
last  "  lay-off  "  sentence  had  been  pronounced,  that 
the  work  for  the  day  and  for  the  "  season  "  was 
over,  that  it  had  come  time  to  say  good-by. 

"  Good-by !  "  The  voices  echoed  as  we  trooped 
down-stairs  to  the  street  door.  "  Good-by !  Good- 
by  !  "  The  lingering  farewells  rose  faintly  above 
the  noises  of  Broadway,  as  we  scattered  at  the  cor- 
ner. Good-by  to  Rosenfeld's — now  no  longer  a  real- 
ity, but  rather  a  memory  of  idyllic  beauty — the 
workroom  bright  with  sunshine  and  flashing  with 
color,  with  the  faces  of  the  workers  bent  over  the 
fashioning  of  rose  and  poppy,  and  best  of  all,  the 
kind  hearts  and  the  quick  sympathy  that  blossomed 
there  as  luxuriantly  as  the  flowers  themselves. 

Good-by  to  my  four  happiest  weeks  in  the  worka- 
day world. 


196 


XIII 


THEEE  "  LADY-FRIENDS,"  AND  THE  ADVENTURES 
THAT  BEFALL  THEM 

INTO  every  human  experience  there  must  come 
sooner  or  later  the  bitter  consciousness  that 
Nature  is  remorselessly  cruel;  that  she  laughs 
loudest  when  we  are  most  miserable ;  that  she  is 
never  so  bright,  never  so  beautiful  as  in  the  darkest 
hour  of  our  need;  that  she  ever  makes  mock  of  our 
agony  and  ever  smiles  serenely  at  our  despair. 

Such,  at  least,  were  my  feelings  in  those  long, 
beautiful  June  days  that  followed  close  on  the  "  lay- 
off "  at  Rosenf eld's. 

Dear  little  Bessie!  poor  unhappy  Eunice!  This 
chapter  of  my  experiences  is  so  dominated  by  their 
personalities  that  I  shall  devote  a  few  words  to  re- 
counting the  circumstances  which  brought  us  to- 
gether and  sent  us  faring  forth  on  a  summer's  day 
to  seek  new  fortunes,  three  "  lady-friends,"  arm  in 
arm.   I  make  no  apology  for  saying  "  lady-friends." 

197 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I  know  all  the  prejudices  of  polite  society,  which 
smiles  at  what  is  esteemed  to  be  a  piece  of  vulgar 
vanity  characteristic  of  the  working-girl  world. 
And  yet  I  use  the  term  here  in  all  seriousness,  in  all 
good  faith;  not  critically,  not  playfully,  but  ten- 
derly. Because  in  the  humble  world  in  which  our 
comradeship  was  formed  there  is  none  other  to 
designate  the  highest  type  of  friendship,  no  other 
phrase  to  define  that  affection  between  girl  and  girl 
which  is  as  the  love  of  sisters.  In  the  great  worka- 
day world  where  we  toiled  and  hoped  and  prayed 
and  suffered  together  for  a  brief  period  we  were 
called  "  the  three  lady-friends  "  by  our  shop-mates, 
and  such  we  were  to  each  other  always,  and  such  we 
shall  be  throughout  the  chapter;  and  I  know,  if 
Bessie  and  Eunice  were  here  to-night,  looking  over 
my  shoulder  as  I  write  the  account  of  that  sordid 
little  tragedy  and  the  part  they  played  in  it, — I 
know  they  would  clasp  their  rough  little  hands  in 
mine  and  nod  approval. 

Bessie  had  been  my  "  learner  "  at  Rosenf  eld's.  I 
still  remember  her  exactly  as  I  saw  her  that  first 
time,  a  slender  little  figure  bending  over  the  work- 
table.  Her  shirt-waist  was  snowy-white,  and  fas- 
tened down — oh,  so  securely! — under  the  narrow 
leather  belt;  she  had  a  wealth  of  straight  blonde 

198 


THE  LONG  DAY 


hair  of  that  clear,  transparent  quality  which,  when 
heaped  high  on  her  head,  looked  like  a  mass  of  spun 
glass;  her  cheeks,  which  were  naturally  very  pale, 
burned  a  deep  crimson  as  they  reflected  the  light  on 
the  poppies  beneath;  and  after  a  while,  when  she 
raised  her  head,  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  blue,  and 
that  her  profile,  sharp  and  clear  cut,  was  that  of  a 
young  Jewess.  I  had  thought  her  to  be  about 
twenty-two, — for,  pretty  and  fresh  as  she  was,  she 
looked  every  day  of  it, — but  I  found  out  later  that 
she  was  not  then  eighteen. 

We  had  not  been  long  getting  acquainted — that 
is,  as  well  acquainted  as  was  possible  in  a  busy  shop 
like  Rosenf  eld's.  Indeed,  it  would  be  a  strange,  sad 
world — stranger  and  sadder  than  it  really  is — if 
Bessie  and  I  had  not  sooner  or  later  established  a 
certain  bond  of  intimacy.  Sitting  opposite  at  the 
same  work-table,  we  made  poppies  together  and  ex- 
changed our  little  stories.  She  had  been  working, 
since  she  was  fifteen,  at  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs:  cash- 
girl  in  a  department  store;  running  errands  for  a 
fashionable  modiste;  cashier  in  a  dairy  lunch-room; 
making  picture-frames.  This  was  her  second  sea- 
son at  flower-making,  and  she  liked  it  better  than 
anything  she  had  ever  tried,  if  only  there  was  work 
all  the  year  round;  for  she  could  n't  afford  to  sit 

199 


THE  LONG  DAY 

idle  through  the  long  summer  months— well,  I 
should  say  not! — with  eight  small  brothers  and  sis- 
ters at  home,  and  a  rather  incompetent  father,  and 
sixteen  dollars  a  month  rent!  The  experiences  of  a 
score  of  shops,  and  the  motley  crew  of  people  she 
had  worked  with  in  these  busy  years,  Bessie  in  her 
careless,  simple  narrative  had  the  power  to  invest 
with  lifelike  reality. 

Scarcely  less  interesting  than  all  this  to  me  was 
my  own  story  to  Bessie,  which  found  ready  sym- 
pathy in  her  tender  heart,  especially  that  part  of  it 
that  had  to  do  with  the  home  for  working  girls 
where  I  was  now  living.  For  to  Bessie,  with  her  in- 
born racial  love  of  family,  nothing  was  so  much  to 
be  pitied  as  the  unfortunates  who  found  shelter 
there.  She  seemed  to  take  a  certain  sort  of  consola- 
tion for  her  own  hard  life  in  hearing  the  sordid  de- 
tails of  the  wretched  waifs  and  strays  that  came 
wandering  into  the  "  home  "  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night.  I  told  her  about  the  dormitory  where 
we  slept  side  by  side  in  gray-blanketed  cots,  each 
girl's  clothes  folded  neatly  across  the  footboard ;  of 
the  cross  old  dragon  who  sat  outside  in  the  brightly 
lighted  passageway,  and  snored  all  night  long,  when 
she  should  have  been  attending  to  her  duties, — which 
duties  were  to  keep  an  eye  on  us  lest  we  rob  one 

200 


THE  LONG  DAY 


another  of  the  few  pennies  we  might  have  under  our 
pillows,  or  that  we  might  not  scrawl  obscene  verses 
on  the  whitewashed  walls,  in  case  we  had  succeeded 
in  smuggling  in  a  forbidden  lead-pencil.  For  such 
offenses,  and  they  happened  only  too  often,  we  were 
all  held  equally  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  the  sour,  auto- 
cratic matron.  As  each  night  brought  a  fresh  relay 
of  girls  to  the  dormitory,  it  was  productive  of  a  new 
series  of  episodes,  which  I  related  faithfully  to 
Bessie. 

That  is  how  she  became  interested  in  Eunice. 
The  latter  had  come  tiptoeing  into  the  dormitory  one 
night  long  after  the  other  girls  were  fast  asleep,  and 
without  undressing  threw  herself  on  the  vacant  cot 
next  to  mine.  In  the  lamplight  that  shone  from  the 
passageway  full  on  her  face,  I  saw,  as  I  peeped  above 
the  rough  blanket,  that  the  new-comer  was  no  com- 
mon type  of  waif  and  stray.  There  was  an  elusive 
charm  in  the  glimpse  of  profile  and  in  the  delicate 
aquiline  features,  a  certain  suggestion  of  beauty, 
were  it  not  for  the  white,  drawn  look  that  enveloped 
them  like  a  death-mask.  As  I  was  gazing  fur- 
tively at  her  she  turned  on  her  side,  moaning  as  only 
a  girl  can  moan  when  peace  of  mind  is  gone  forever. 
Such  sounds  were  not  uncommon  in  the  dormitory. 
Several  times,  waking  in  the  night,  I  had  listened 
201 


THE  LONG  DAY 

pityingly  to  the  same  half -smothered  lament.  On 
this  night  I  had  fallen  asleep  as  usual,  when  sud- 
denly a  shriek  rang  out,  and  I  wakened  to  hear  the 
angry  accents  of  the  beldam  protesting  against 
"  hysterics,"  and  the  indistinct  muttering  of  the 
girlish  sleepers  whose  rest  the  stranger  had  so  in- 
considerately disturbed.  In  a  few  moments  every- 
thing was  quiet  again,  our  old  woman  had  renewed 
her  snoring,  and  then  the  new-comer,  repressing  her 
anguish  as  best  she  could,  slid  kneeling  to  the  floor. 

It  was  then,  all  sleep  gone  for  that  night,  I 
reached  out  my  hand  and  touched  the  sleeve  of  her 
black  dress. 

From  that  moment  we  became  friends.  The  in- 
formation which  she  vouchsafed  about  herself  was 
meager  and  not  of  a  character  to  throw  much  light 
upon  her  former  condition  and  environment.  It  was 
obvious  that  there  had  been  a  tragedy  in  her  life, 
and  I  instinctively  guessed  what  that  tragedy  was, 
although  I  respected  the  reserve  she  threw  around 
her  and  asked  no  indiscreet  questions.  She  was  fairly 
well  educated,  had  been  brought  up  in  a  small  New 
Jersey  village,  and  had  been  a  stenographer  until 
she  went  to  a  telephone  office  to  tend  a  switchboard. 
Between  that  job  and  her  advent  in  the  "  home  "  was 
an  obvious  hiatus,  which  at  times  she  vaguely  re- 

202 


THE  LONG  DAY 


f erred  to  as  a  period  wherein  she  44  lost  her  grip  on 
everything."  She  had  no  money,  and  her  clothes 
were  even  shabbier  than  my  own,  and  she  was  too  dis- 
couraged even  to  look  for  work.  Her  cot  and  three 
meager  meals  a  day,  consisting  of  bread  and  tea  for 
breakfast  and  supper,  and  bread  and  coffee  and 
soup  for  dinner,  she  received,  as  did  all  the  transient 
boarders,  in  return  for  a  ten-hour-day's  work  in  the 
"  home  "  kitchen.  After  a  few  nights  she  ceased 
moaning,  and  settled  gradually  into  a  hopeless 
apathy,  while  over  her  deep  gray  eyes  there  grew  a 
film  of  silent  misery. 

Stirred  by  my  fragmentary  accounts  of  Eunice's 
wretchedness,  the  generous-hearted  Bessie  one  day 
suggested  that  we  take  her  with  us  to  look  for  a  job 
as  soon  as  the  anticipated  44  lay-off "  notice  came 
into  effect  at  Rosenfeld's.  And  so,  on  the  Monday 
morning  following  that  dreaded  event,  Bessie  met 
Eunice  and  me  at  the  lower  right-hand  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Grand  Street,  and  together  we  ap- 
plied for  work  at  the  R  Underwear  Company, 

which  had  advertised  that  morning  for  twenty  oper- 
ators. 

44  Ever  run  a  power  Singer?"  queried  the  fore- 
man. 

44  No,  but  we  can  learn.    We  're  all  quick,"  an- 
203 


THE  LONG  DAY 


swered  Bessie,  who  had  volunteered  to  act  as  spokes- 
man. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  you  can  learn  all  right,  but  you 
won't  make  very  much  at  first.  All  come  together? 
.  .  .  So!  Well,  then,  I  guess  you  '11  want  to  work 
in  the  same  room,"  and  with  that  he  ushered  us  into 
a  very  inferno  of  sound,  a  great,  yawning  chaos  of 
terrific  noise.  The  girls,  who  sat  in  long  rows  up 
and  down  the  length  of  the  great  room,  did  not  raise 
their  eyes  to  the  new-comers,  as  is  the  rule  in  less 
strenuous  workrooms.  Every  pair  of  eyes  seemed 
to  be  held  in  fascination  upon  the  flying  and  endless 
strip  of  white  that  raced  through  a  pair  of  hands  to 
feed  itself  into  the  insatiable  maw  of  the  electric 
sewing-machine.  Every  face,  tense  and  stony,  be- 
spoke a  superb  effort  to  concentrate  mind  and  body, 
and  soul  itself,  literally  upon  the  point  of  a  needle. 
Every  form  was  crouched  in  the  effort  to  guide  the 
seam  through  the  presser-foot.  And  piled  between 
the  opposing  phalanxes  of  set  faces  were  billows 
upon  billows  of  foamy  white  muslin  and  lace — the 
finished  garments  wrought  by  the  so-many  dozen  per 
hour,  for  the  so-many  cents  per  day, — and  wrought, 
too,  in  this  terrific,  nerve-racking  noise. 

The  foreman  led  us  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
which  was  lighted  by  gas-jets  that  hung  directly 

204 


THE  LONG  DAY 


over  the  girls'  heads,  although  the  ends  of  the  shop 
had  bright  sunshine  from  the  windows.  He  seemed 
a  good-natured,  respectable  sort  of  man,  of  about 
forty,  and  was  a  Jew.  Bessie  and  me  he  placed  at 
machines  side  by  side,  and  Eunice  a  little  farther 
down  the  line.  Then  my  first  lesson  began.  He 
showed  me  how  to  thread  bobbin  and  needle,  how  to 
operate  ruffler  and  tucker,  and  also  how  to  turn  off 
and  on  the  electric  current  which  operated  the  ma- 
chinery. My  first  attempt  to  do  the  latter  was  pro- 
ductive of  a  shock  to  the  nerves  that  could  not  have 
been  greater  if,  instead  of  pressing  the  harmless 
little  lever  under  the  machine  with  my  knee,  I  had 
accidently  exploded  a  bomb.  The  foreman  laughed 
good-naturedly  at  my  fright. 

"  You  '11  get  used  to  it  by  and  by,"  he  shouted 
above  the  noise ;  "  but  like  as  not  for  a  while  you 
won't  sleep  very  good  nights — kind  of  nervous; 
but  you  '11  get  over  that  in  a  week  or  so,"  and  he 
ducked  his  head  under  the  machine  to  adjust  the 
belt.  Suddenly,  above  all  the  frenzied  crashing  of 
the  machines  came  a  sound,  half  scream,  half 
cackle : 

"  Yi !  yi !  my  pretty  one,  you  '11  get  used  to  it  by 
and  by ;  you  '11  get  used  to  anything  in  this  world." 
It  was  an  old  woman's  voice,  and  looking  across  the 

205 


THE  LONG  DAY 


table,  I  saw  a  merry-eyed,  toothless  old  crone,  who 
was  grinning  and  nodding  at  me. 

"  Hello !  hello  there,  Miriam !  what 's  eating  you 
now?  99  shouted  the  foreman,  emerging  and  scram- 
bling to  his  feet  as  he  turned  to  get  Bessie  started. 
But  the  strange  old  creature  only  grinned  wider 
and  screeched,  "  Yi !  yi !  "  louder  than  ever. 

But  I  had  not  time,  either,  to  look  at  or  listen  to 
her  now,  as  I  leaned  over  the  machine  and  practised 
at  running  a  straight  seam.  Ah,  the  skill  of  these 
women  and  girls,  and  of  the  strange  creature  op- 
posite, who  can  make  a  living  at  this  torturing 
labor!  How  very  different,  how  infinitely  harder  it 
is,  as  compared  with  running  an  ordinary  sewing- 
machine.  The  goods  that  my  nervous  fingers  tried 
to  guide  ran  every  wrong  way.  I  had  no  control 
whatever  over  the  fearful  velocity  with  which  the 
needle  danced  along  the  seam.  In  utter  discourage- 
ment, I  stopped  trying  for  a  moment,  and  watched 
the  girl  at  my  right.  She  was  a  swarthy,  thick- 
lipped  Jewess,  of  the  type  most  common  in  such 
places,  but  I  looked  at  her  with  awe  and  admiration. 
In  Rachel  Goldberg's  case  the  making  of  muslin, 
lace-trimmed  corset-covers  was  an  art  rather  than  a 
craft.    She  was  a  remarkable  operator  even  among 

scores  of  experts  at  the  R  .    Under  her  stubby, 

206 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ill-kept  hands  ruffles  and  tucks  and  insertion  bands 
and  lace  frills  were  wrought  with  a  beauty  and  soft- 
ness of  finish,  and  a  speed  and  precision  of  workman- 
ship, that  made  her  the  wonder  and  envy  of  the  shop. 
And  with  what  ease  she  seemed  to  do  it  all,  despite 
the  riveted  eyes  and  tense-drawn  muscles  of  her  ex- 
pressionless face !  Suddenly  her  machine  stopped, 
she  looked  up  with  a  loud  yawn,  and  stretched  her 
arms  above  her  head.  She  acknowledged  the  flat- 
tery of  my  look  with  a  patronizing  smile  and 
a  4  6  How-  do-  you  -  think  -you're  -  going  -  to  -  like  -  your- 
job?  "  I  answered  the  conventional  question  in  the 
usual  way,  and  remarked  that  she  sewed  as  if  she  had 
done  it  for  ever  and  ever,  and  as  if  it  were  no  work 
at  all. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Yes,  I 've  worked  a  long 
time  at  it,  but  my  shoulder  aches  as  bad  this  morning 
as  it  did  when  I  was  a  learner  like  you,"  and  she 
pressed  the  power-lever  and  again  bent  over  the 
tucking. 

At  my  left  Bessie  was  also  practising  on  running 
seams,  and  a  little  farther  down  we  saw  poor  Eunice 
struggling  at  the  same  hopeless  lesson.  The  fore- 
man, whose  name  proved  to  be  Isaacs, — "  Abe  " 
Isaacs,— brought  us  our  first  "  lot  "  of  work.  Mine 
consisted  of  six  dozen  coarse  muslin  corset-covers, 

207 


THE  LONG  DAY 


which  were  already  seamed  together,  and  which  I 
was  shown  how  to  "  finish  "  with  an  embroidery  yoke 
and  ruffled  edging  about  the  arm's-eye.  There  is 
no  basting,  no  pinning  together  of  pieces;  all  the 
work  is  free-hand,  and  must  be  done  with  infinite 
exactness.  I  must  hold  the  embroidery  and  the  fin- 
ishing strips  of  beading  on  the  edge  of  the  muslin 
with  an  exact  nicety  that  will  insure  the  edges  of  all 
three  being  caught  in  one  seam;  a  process  difficult 
enough  on  any  sewing-machine,  under  any  circum- 
stances, but  doubly  so  when  the  lightest  touch  sends 
the  three-ply  fabric  under  the  needle  with  an  incal- 
culable velocity.  Result  of  my  first  hour's  work:  I 
had  spoiled  a  dozen  garments.  Try  as  I  would,  I 
invariably  lost  all  control  of  my  materials,  and  the 
needle  plunged  right  and  left — everywhere,  in  fact, 
except  along  the  straight  and  narrow  way  laid  out 
for  it.  And,  to  make  matters  still  worse,  I  was  pain- 
fully conscious  that  my  old  woman  vis-a-vis  was 
laughing  at  my  distress  with  her  irritating  "  Yi, 
yi!" 

As  I  spoiled  each  garment  I  thrust  it  into  the 
bottom  of  a  green  pasteboard  box  under  the  table, 
which  held  my  allotment  of  work,  and  from  the  top 
of  the  box  grabbed  up  a  fresh  piece.  I  glanced  over 
my  shoulder  and  saw  that  Bessie  was  doing  the  same 

208 


THE  LONG  DAY 


thing,  although  what  we  were  going  to  do  with  them, 
or  how  account  for  such  wholesale  devastation  of 
goods,  we  were  too  perturbed  to  consider.  At  last, 
however,  after  repeated  trials,  and  by  guiding  the 
seam  with  laborious  care,  I  succeeded  in  completing 
one  garment  without  disaster;  and  I  had  just 
started  another,  when — crash! — flying  shuttles  and 
spinning  bobbins  and  swirling  wheels  came  to  a 
standstill.  My  sewing-machine  was  silent,  as  were 
all  the  others  in  the  great  workroom.  Something 
had  happened  to  the  dynamo. 

There  was  a  howl  of  disappointment. 

"  Yi,  yi ! 99  screamed  the  old  woman,  throwing  up 
her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  unutterable  disgust;  and 
then,  catching  my  eye,  her  wrinkled  old  lips  parted 
in  a  smile  of  friendly  interest. 

"  How  many  did  ye  bungle?  "  she  chuckled,  lean- 
ing over  and  looking  furtively  up  and  down  the 
room,  as  if  afraid  of  being  caught  talking  to  me.  I 
blushed  in  confusion  that  was  half  fright,  and  she 
raised  a  forefinger  menacingly : 

"  Yi !  yi !  ye  thought  I  did  n't  see  ye  sneaking  the 
spoiled  truck  into  the  green  box ;  but  old  Miriam  's 
got  sharp  eyes,  she  has,  and  she  likes  to  watch  you 
young  uns  when  you  comes  in  first.  You  're  not  the 
only  one.    They  all  spoil  lots  before  they  learn  to 

14  209 


THE  LONG  DAY 


make  a  living  out  of  it.  There 's  lots  like  ye !  "  and 
stooping  over,  she  drew  a  handful  of  my  botched 
work  out  of  the  box  and  began  to  rip  the  stitching. 

"That  's  all  right;  I  'm  glad  to  help  ye!"  she 
protested.  "  And  sure,  if  we  don't  help  each  other, 
who  's  a-going  to  help  us  poor  devils,  I  'd  like  to 
know  ?  99 

I,  too,  busied  myself  with  the  task  of  ripping, 
which  I  saw  Bessie  and  Eunice  were  also  doing;  in 
fact,  all  the  new-comers  of  the  morning  could  be  thus 
singled  out.  The  practised  hands  availed  them- 
selves of  the  enforced  rest  by  yawning  and  stretch- 
ing their  arms,  and  by  comparing  the  earnings  of 
the  morning;  for  we  all  worked  on  piece-work. 
Rachel  Goldberg  had  finished  four  dozen  of  extra- 
fine  garments,  which  meant  seventy-five  cents,  and  it 
was  not  yet  eleven  o'clock.  She  would  make  at  least 
one  dollar  and  sixty  cents  before  the  day  was  over, 
provided  we  did  not  have  any  serious  breakdowns. 
She  watched  the  clock  impatiently,— every  minute 
she  was  idle  meant  a  certain  fraction  of  a  penny 
lost,— and  crouched  sullenly  over  her  machine  for 
the  signal. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Miriam?"  a 
frowsy-headed  girl  asked,  giving  the  wink  to  the 
crowd. 

210 


THE  LONG  DAY 


The  generous-hearted  old  lady  looked  up  from 
the  task  she  was  helping  me  to  do,  and  raising  her 
hand  to  shield  her  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  gas- 
light, peered  down  the  long  line  of  girls  until  she 
placed  the  speaker. 

"  Yi,  yi !  Ye  want  to  know  what  I  'm  thinking 
about?  Well,  mebbe,  Beckie  Frankenstein,  I  'm 
thinking  what  a  beautiful  world  this  is,  and  what  a 
fine  time  you  and  me  has,"  and  the  strange  creature 
broke  into  a  laugh  that  was  more  terrible  than  a  sob. 

"  Ah,  there  you  go  again,  Miriam !  What 's  eatin' 
you  to-day  ?  99  cried  the  foreman,  as  he  came  along 
to  inspect  the  work ;  and  seeing  Miriam  undoing  my 
blunders,  asked,  "  Who  did  that?  " 

Before  I  could  put  in  a  half -frightened  acknowl- 
edgment, my  intercessor  had  spoken  up : 

"  And  whose  'u'd  them  be  but  mine,  Abe  Isaacs  ?  " 
— scowling  at  me  to  keep  silence  when  I  opened  my 
mouth  to  contradict  her. 

The  foreman  looked  incredulous.  "  You,  Mir- 
iam !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  it  was  you  spoiled  all 
that  work?  What  's  the  matter  with  you  to-day, 
anyway?  If  you  don't  do  better,  I  '11  have  to  fire 
you." 

There  was  a  good-natured  tone,  a  kindly  compas- 
sion, in  Abe  Isaacs's  voice  which  was  not  in  accord 

211 


THE  LONG  DAY 


with  the  words ;  and  when  he  turned  and  asked  me 
what  I  had  done,  there  was  no  fear  in  my  heart.  I 
answered  by  looking  significantly  at  old  Miriam. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath,  and  passed  on  to  Bessie. 

"  Poor  old  Miriam,  she 's  teched  up  here,"  one  of 
the  girls  explained,  tapping  her  forehead.  "  They 
say  it  was  the  old  sweat-shops  put  her  out  of  her 
mind,  and  I  guess  it  's  so,  all  right.  My  mother 
knows  two  ladies  that  was  made  crazy  sewing  pants 
up  to  Sternberg's.  But  that  was  long  ago,  when 
they  used  to  treat  the  girls  so  bad.  Things  is  ever 
so  much  better  now,  only  Miriam  can't  get  used  to 
the  improvements.  She  's  a  hundred  years  behind 
the  times." 

I  was  still  lost  in  admiring  wonder  of  Rachel  Gold- 
berg's skill.  I  asked  her  how  long  it  would  take  me 
to  learn  to  do  it  as  well.  She  did  not  have  a  chance 
to  answer  before  a  harsh  laugh  was  heard  and  a  new 
voice  asserted  itself. 

"  Oh-ho !  you  '11  never  learn  to  work  like  her,  and 
you  'd  better  find  it  out  now.  I  seen  you  running 
your  machine,  and  I  says  to  myself,  4  That  girl  '11 
never  make  her  salt  making  underclothes.'  Pants 'd 
be  more  in  your  line.  To  make  money  on  muslin 
you 've  got  to  be  born  to 't." 

212 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  That 's  no  lie,  either,"  muttered  another. 

"  You  bet  it  ain't ! 99  declared  the  expert  Rachel. 
"  My  mother  was  working  on  shirts  for  a  straight 
ten  months  before  I  was  born." 

In  half  an  hour  we  had  resumed  work,  and  at  half- 
past  twelve  we  stopped  for  another  half-hour  and 
ate  luncheon — Bessie,  Eunice,  and  I  in  a  corner  by 
ourselves. 

We  held  a  conference,  and  compared  notes  of  the 
morning's  progress,  which  had  been  even  more  dis- 
couraging to  poor  Eunice  than  to  us ;  for  to  her  it 
had  brought  the  added  misfortune  of  a  row  of 
stitches  in  her  right  forefinger.  We  counted  up  our 
profits  for  the  morning,  and  the  aggregate  earnings 
of  the  three  of  us  did  not  amount  to  ten  cents.  Of 
course  we  would  learn  to  do  better,  but  it  would  take 
a  long,  long  time,  Bessie  was  firmly  convinced,  be- 
fore we  could  even  make  enough  to  buy  our  lunches. 
It  was  decided  that  one  of  us  should  resign  the  job 
that  night,  and  the  other  two  keep  at  it  until  the 
delegate  found  something  better  for  us  all  and  had 
tested  the  new  job  to  her  satisfaction.  Bessie  was  of 
course  appointed,  and  the  next  morning  Eunice  and 
I  went  alone,  with  plausible  excuses  for  the  absent 
Bessie,  for  we  had  a  certain  delicacy  about  telling 
the  real  facts  to  so  kind  a  foreman  as  "  Abe." 

213 


THE  LONG  DAY 


The  second  day  we  had  no  better  luck,  and  the 
pain  between  the  shoulder-blades  was  unceasing. 
All  night  long  I  had  tossed  on  my  narrow  cot,  with 
aching  back  and  nerves  wrought  up  to  such  a  tension 
that  the  moment  I  began  to  doze  off  I  was  wakened 
by  a  spasmodic  jerk  of  the  right  arm  as  it  reached 
forward  to  grasp  a  visionary  strip  of  lace.  That 
evening,  as  we  filed  out  at  six  o'clock,  Bessie  was 
waiting  for  us,  her  gentle  face  full  of  radiance  and 
good  news.  Even  the  miserable  Eunice  was  affected 
by  her  hopefulness. 

"  Oh,  girls,  I  've  got  something  that  's  really 
good — three  dollars  a  week  while  you  're  learning, 
and  an  awful  nice  shop;  and  just  think,  girls! — the 
hours — I  never  had  anything  like  it  before,  and  I 've 
knocked  around  at  eighteen  different  jobs — half- 
past  eight  to  five,  and — "  she  paused  for  breath  to 
announce  the  glorious  fact — "  Girls,  just  think  of 
it  [—Saturday  afternoons  off,  all  the  year  round." 


214 


XIV 


IN  WHICH  A  TRAGIC   FATE  OVERTAKES  MY 
"  LADY-FRIENDS  " 

THE  next  morning  we  met  on  the  corner,  as 
usual,  and  Bessie  led  us  to  our  new  job — led 
us  through  a  world  that  was  strange  and 
new  to  both  Eunice  and  me,  though  poor  Eunice 
had  little  heart  for  the  newness  and  the  strangeness 
of  it  all.  In  and  out,  and  criss-cross,  we  threaded 
our  way  through  little  narrow  streets  bordered  with 
stately  "  sky-scrapers,"  and  at  last  turned  into 
Maiden  Lane.  We  walked  arm  in  arm  till  we  came 
to  an  alley  which  Bessie  said  was  Gold  Street.  It  is 
more  of  a  zigzag  even  than  Maiden  Lane,  and  is 
flanked  by  dark  iron-shuttered  warehouses  and  fac- 
tories. Wolff's,  our  destination,  was  at  the  head 
of  the  street,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  sitting 
side  by  side  at  the  work-table,  while  our  new  fore- 
woman, a  cross-eyed  Irish  girl,  was  showing  us  what 
to  do  and  how  to  do  it. 

215 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Making  jewel-  and  silverware-cases  was  now  our 
work.  In  the  long,  whitewashed  workroom  there 
were  thirty  other  girls  performing  the  same  task, 
and  on  each  of  the  five  floors  beneath  there  were  as 
many  more  girls,  pasting  and  pressing  and  trim- 
ming cases  that  were  to  hold  rings,  watches  and 
bracelets,  and  spoons,  knives,  and  forks — enough  to 
supply  all  Christendom,  it  seemed  to  me.  As  be- 
ginners we  were  given  each  a  dozen  spoon-boxes  to 
cover  with  white  leather  and  line  with  satin.  It  is 
light,  pleasant  work,  and  was  such  an  improvement 
on  the  sweat-shop  drudgery  that  even  Eunice  smiled 
a  little  after  a  while. 

"  Is  youse  lady-friends?  99  the  forewoman  asked 
when,  in  the  course  of  ten  minutes,  she  came  to  in- 
spect our  progress ;  on  receiving  an  affirmative 
reply,  she  scowled. 

"  Fiddlesticks !  If  I  'd  knowed  youse  was  lady- 
friends,  I  'd  jist  told  Izzy  he  could  get  some  other 
girls,"  and  she  walked  off,  still  scowling.  The  girls 
about  us  giggled. 

"  Why  does  n't  Miss  Gibbs  like  us  to  be  lady- 
friends?"  asked  Bessie. 

A  young  Italian  answered,  "  Because  they  always 
git  to  scrappin'." 

We  all  laughed — even  Eunice — at  such  an  ending 
to  our  friendship. 

216 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  We  had  a  fearful  row  here  yisterday,"  spoke  up 
another;  "  and  they  wuz  lady-friends — thicker  than 
sardines,  they  wuz — till  they  got  on  the  outs  about 
a  feller  down  on  Pearl  Street;  a  diamond-cutter  he 
wuz,  and  they  wuz  both  mashed  on  him — a  Dutch- 
man, too,  he  wuz,  that  wore  ear-rings.  I  could  n't 
get  mashed  on  a  Dutchman,  ear-rings  or  no  ear- 
rings, could  you?" 

"  What  did  they  do?  "  asked  Bessie. 

"  Do !  They  snapped  at  each  other  all  morning 
over  the  work-table,  and  then  one  of  them  called  the 
other  a  name  that  wuz  something  awful,  and  she  up 
and  spit  in  her  face  for  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  blame  that  girl  for  spitting  in  her 
face,"  interrupted  a  voice.  "  I  don't  blame  her ; 
lady-like  or  not  lady-like,  I  'd  have  done  the  same 
thing.  I  'd  spit  in  the  President's  face  if  I  was  in 
the  White  House  and  he  was  to  call  me  such  a 
name !  " 

"  And  then  what  happened?  "  asked  Bessie. 

"  Oh,  they  just  up  and  at  each  other  like  two  cats, 
tumbling  over  a  stack  of  them  there  white  velvet 
necklace-cases,  and  bloodying  up  each  other's  face? 
something  fierce ;  and  then  Miss  Gibbs  she  called 
Izzy ;  and  Izzy  he  fired  them  on  the  spot." 

Despite  these  tales  of  strenuous  conflicts,  we  were 
happy  in  our  work  at  Wolff's.    Our  shop-mates  were 

217 


THE  LONG  DAY 


quiet,  decent-looking  girls,  and  their  conversation 
was  conspicuously  clean — not  always  a  character- 
istic of  their  class.  Miss  Gibbs,  despite  her  justi- 
fiable prejudice  against  lady-friends,  proved  not  un- 
kind, and  we  congratulated  ourselves  as  we  bent  over 
our  work  and  listened  to  the  cheerful  hum  of  voices. 

After  each  case  was  finished, — after  the  satin  lin- 
ings and  interlinings  and  the  tuftings  had  been  fitted 
and  glued  into  their  proper  places,  and  the  bit  of 
leather  drawn  across  the  padded  cover, — we  could 
raise  our  eyes  for  a  moment  and  look  out  upon  a 
strange,  fascinating  world.  The  open  windows  on 
one  side  of  the  shop  looked  into  the  polishing-room 
of  a  neighboring  goldsmith,  and  on  the  other  side 
into  a  sunshiny  workroom  filled  with  swirling  black 
wheels  and  flying  belts  among  which  the  workmen 
kept  up  a  dialogue  in  a  foreign  tongue.  The  latter 
place  was  near  enough  for  a  good-looking  young 
man  to  attempt  a  flirtation  with  Bessie,  in  such  mo- 
ments as  he  was  not  carefully  watching  what  seemed 
to  be  a  clumsy  mass  of  wax  on  the  end  of  a  wooden 
handle.  All  the  long  forenoon  he  kept  up  his 
manceuvers,  watching  his  ugly  bludgeon  as  if  it  were 
the  very  apple  of  his  eye ;  carrying  it  to  the  window 
one  moment  and  examining  it  under  the  microscope ; 
then  carrying  it  back  to  his  wheel  and  beginning  all 

218 


THE  LONG  DAY 


over  again.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  came  to  the 
window  for  the  hundredth  time,  and  brandishing 
the  bludgeon  so  that  the  sunshine  fell  directly  upon 
it,  held  it  aloft  for  us  to  admire  the  great  glittering 
gem  that  now  sparkled  deep-bedded  in  the  ugly  wax. 

"  I  gif  you  dat  if  you  marry  me !  "  cried  the  dia- 
mond-cutter, striking  a  dramatic  attitude  for  Bes- 
sie's benefit. 

Thus  one,  two  days  passed  swiftly,  and  we  had 
learned  to  make  jewel-cases  with  tolerable  rapidity. 
We  had  a  half -hour  for  luncheon,  during  which 
Bessie,  Eunice,  and  I  went  off  by  ourselves  to  the 
rear  of  the  shop,  where  we  ate  our  sandwiches  in 
silence  and  gazed  out  upon  the  forest  of  masts  that 
filled  the  East  River  lying  below. 

On  the  fourth  day  Eunice  and  I  ate  luncheon 
alone.  Bessie  did  not  come  that  morning,  nor  send 
any  excuse.  Her  absence  gave  me  an  opportunity, 
in  this  half -hour's  respite  from  work,  to  get  better 
acquainted  with  my  silent  and  mysterious  fellow- 
boarder;  anything  more  than  a  most  meager  ac- 
quaintance was  impossible  at  the  place  where  we 
lived.  Like  the  majority  of  semi-charitable  institu- 
tions, the  "  home  "  was  conducted  on  the  theory  that 
the  only  safety  to  morals,  as  well  as  to  pocket-books, 
was  espionage  and  isolation. 

219 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  It  's  awful  up  there,  is  n't  it  ?  "  she  remarked 
suddenly  after  we  had  discussed  every  possible  cause 
for  Bessie's  absence. 

"Yes,  is  n't  it?"  I  replied,  somewhat  surprised, 
for  this  was  the  first  time  the  girl  had  ever  expressed 
any  opinion  about  anything,  so  fearful  did  she  seem 
of  betraying  herself. 

"  I  suppose  you  often  wonder  what  brought  me 
there  that  night?  "  she  went  on.  "  You 've  told  me 
your  story,  and  you  don't  know  anything  at  all 
about  mine.  You  must  often  wonder,  though  you 
are  too  considerate  to  ask.  But  I 'm  going  to  tell 
you  now  without  asking.  It  was  to  keep  me  from 
going  there,"  pointing  through  the  window  down  to 
the  river. 

"  I  'd  had  a  lot  of  trouble, — oh,  a  terrible  lot  of 
trouble, — and  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  n't  any  place 
for  me;  and  I  walked  down  to  the  edge  of  the  river 
up  there  at  the  end  of  East  Fourteenth  Street,  and 
something  stopped  me  just  when  I  was  ready  to 
jump  in.  Why  I  did  n't,  I  don't  know,"  and  the 
girl  turned  a  stony  face  to  the  window. 

"  Why,  it  was  hope  and  renewed  courage,  of 
course ! "  I  replied  quickly.  "  Everybody  gets 
blue  spells — when  one  is  down  on  one's  luck." 

Eunice  shook  her  head.  "  No,  it  was  n't  hope. 
220 


THE  LONG  DAY 


It  was  because  I  was  afraid — it  was  because  I  'm  a 
coward.  I 'm  too  much  of  a  coward  to  live,  and  I 'm 
too  much  of  a  coward  to  die.  You  never  felt  as  I 
do.  You  could  n't.  I  've  lost  my  grip  on  every- 
thing. Everything  's  gone  against  me,  and  it  's 
too  late  now  for  things  to  change.  You  don't  know 
— you  don't  know,  you  and  Bessie.  If  you  did, 
you 'd  see  how  useless  all  your  kindness  is,  in  trying 
to  get  me  to  brace  up.  I  've  tried — my  God !  I 
have  tried  to  feel  that  there 's  a  life  before  me,  but  I 
can't — I  can't.  Sometimes,  maybe  for  a  minute, 
I  '11  forget  what 's  gone  by,  and  then  the  next  min- 
ute the  memory  of  it  all  comes  back  with  a  fearful 
stab.    There  is  something  that  won't  let  me  forget." 

"  Hush  !  Eunice ;  don't  talk  so  loud,"  I  whispered 
as  her  passionate  voice  rose  above  the  hum  of  the 
other  girls  in  a  far  portion  of  the  room. 

"  I  tell  you  it  's  no  use — it 's  no  use.  I  've  lost 
my  grip  on  things,  and  I  can  never  catch  hold  again. 
I  thought,  maybe,  when  I  started  out  with  you  and 
Bessie,  and  got  to  working  again,  there  'd  be  a 
change.  But  there  is  n't  any  difference  now  from — 
from  the  night  I  went  into  that  dormitory  first.  Now 
with  you  it  would  be  different.  What 's  happened  to 
me  might,  maybe,  happen  to  you ;  but  you  could  fight 
it  down.    There  's  something  inside  of  you  that  's 

221 


THE  LONG  DAY 

stronger  than  anything  that  can  hurt  you  from  the 
outside.  Most  girls  are  that  way.  They  get  hurt 
— and  hurt  bad,  and  they  cry  a  lot  at  the  time  and 
are  miserable  and  unhappy;  but  after  a  while  they 
succeed  in  picking  themselves  up,  and  are  in  the  end 
as  good,  sometimes  better,  than  ever.  They  forget 
in  a  little  while  all  about  it,  and  wind  up  by  marry- 
ing some  man  who  is  really  in  love  with  them,  and 
they  are  as  happy  as  if  nothing  had  ever  happened." 

I  looked  at  the  occupant  of  cot  No.  11  with  min- 
gled feelings  of  pity  and  amazement — pity  for  the 
hopelessness  of  her  case,  now  more  apparent  than 
ever;  amazement  at  her  keen  and  morbid  generali- 
zations. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Eunice?  " 

"  Twenty-four,"  she  replied — "  oh,  I  know  what 
you  're  going  to  say :  that  I  have  my  whole  life  be- 
fore me,  and  all  that.  But  I  have  n't.  My  life  is 
all  behind  me." 

"  *  I  am  the  Captain  of  my  Soul, 
I  am  the  Master  of  my  Fate,'  " 

I  quoted. 

"  Yes,  you  are ;  but  I  am  not,"  she  replied  simply, 
and  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  her  hopeless  eyes. 
Poor,  unfortunate  Eunice!   That  night,  as  we 


THE  LONG  DAY 


walked  home  together,  she  revealed  a  little  more 
about  herself  by  telling  me  that  she  had  recently 
been  discharged  from  the  hospital  on  "  the  Island." 
I  did  not  need  to  inquire  the  nature  of  the  illness 
that  had  left  her  face  so  white  and  drawn.  Brief 
as  my  experience  had  been  among  the  humble  in- 
mates of  the  "  home,"  I  had  learned  the  expediency 
of  not  being  too  solicitous  regarding  the  precise 
facts  of  such  cases. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday,  and  still  no  Bessie. 
As  we  worked  we  speculated  as  to  her  absence,  and 
decided  to  spend  the  afternoon  looking  her  up. 
Meanwhile,  although  I  had  been  managing  to  do  my 
work  a  little  better  each  day,  Eunice  had  not  been 
succeeding  so  well.  Her  apathy  had  been  increas- 
ing daily,  until  she  had  lost  any  interest  she  might 
ever  have  had  in  trying  to  do  her  work  well.  On 
this  morning  the  forewoman  was  obliged  to  give  her 
repeated  and  sharp  reproofs  for  soiling  her  materials 
and  for  dawdling  over  her  work. 

"  You  seem  to  like  to  work,"  Eunice  said  once, 
breaking  a  long  silence. 

"  Not  any  better  than  you  do,  only  I  've  got  to, 
and  I  try  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  like  to  work,  and  I  don't, 
and  that 's  the  difference  between  us.    And  it  's  all 

223 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  difference  in  the  world,  too.  If  I  liked  work  for 
its  own  sake,  like  you  do,  there 'd  be  some  hope  for 
me  living  things  down." 

"  I  wonder,"  she  whispered,  again  breaking  a  long 
silence — "  I  wonder  if  Bessie  had  any  man  after 
her." 

I  looked  up  suddenly,  perhaps  indignantly,  and 
my  reply  was  not  encouraging  to  any  conjectures 
along  this  line,  as  Eunice  saw  quickly. 

"I  'm  sorry  I  offended  you,"  she  added  hastily; 
"  but  I  did  n't  think  anything  wrong  of  Bessie — 
you  know  I  did  n't.  Only  I  've  watched  the  boss 
following  her  around  with  his  eyes  ever  since  we  came 
here  to  work.  You  did  n't  see,  for  you  don't  know 
as  much  about  their  devilment  as  I  do;  but  I  tell 
you,  if  anything  was  ever  to  happen  that  poor  little 
girl  through  any  man,  I 'd  choke  him  to  death  with 
my  own  hands  !  " 

The  satin-tufted  box  she  was  working  on  dropped 
from  her  fingers  and  clattered  on  the  floor,  bringing 
the  forewoman  down  upon  her  with  many  caustic 
remarks.  When  the  flurry  was  over  I  assured  her 
that  I  thought  Bessie  fully  capable  of  taking  care 
of  herself,  although  I  had  seen  more  of  the  man- 
ager's advances  than  Eunice  gave  me  credit  for  ob- 
serving. 


THE  LONG  DAY 


At  last  noon  came,  and  with  it  our  first  half-holi- 
day. With  the  first  shriek  of  the  whistle  we  jumped 
up  and  began  folding  our  aprons,  preparatory  to 
rushing  out  to  find  Bessie. 

"  Where  does  she  live?  "  asked  Eunice. 

I  looked  at  her  in  blank  amazement,  for  I*  did  n't 
know.  I  had  never  even  heard  the  name  of  the 
street.  I  knew  it  was  somewhere  on  the  East  Side ; 
that  was  all.  In  all  our  weeks  of  acquaintanceship 
no  occasion  had  arisen  whereby  Bessie  should  men- 
tion where  she  lived.  I  thought  of  Rosenfeld's. 
Perhaps  some  one  there  might  know,  and  we  took  a 
Broadway  car  up-town.  But  Miss  Higgins  was 
away  on  her  vacation,  and  none  of  the  girls  who  still 
remained  in  the  flower-shop  knew  any  more  about 
Bessie's  whereabouts  than  I  did.  Thus  it  is  in  the 
busy,  workaday  world.  Nobody  knows  where  you 
come  from,  and  nobody  knows  where  you  go.  Eu- 
nice suggested  looking  in  the  directory;  but  as  we 
found  forty  of  the  same  name,  it  seemed  hopeless. 
I  did  happen  to  know,  however,  that  her  father  had 
once  been  a  cutter  or  tailor ;  and  so  out  of  the  forty 
we  selected  all  the  likeliest  names  and  began  a  gen- 
eral canvass.  After  five  hours  of  weary  search,  and 
after  climbing  the  stairs  of  more  than  a  score  of 
tenement-houses,  without  success,  we  turned  at  last 

15  225 


THE  LONG  DAY 


into  East  Broadway,  footsore  and  dusty.  In  this 
street,  on  the  fifth  floor  of  a  baking  tenement,  we 
tapped  at  the  door  of  Bessie's  home.  A  little  blonde 
woman  answered  the  knock,  and  when  we  asked  for  * 
Bessie  she  burst  into  sobs  and  pointed  to  a  red  pla- 
card on  the  door — the  quarantine  notice  of  the 
Board  of  Health,  which  we  had  not  seen.  And  then 
Bessie's  mother  told  us  that  four  of  her  brood  had 
been  laid  low  with  malignant  diphtheria.  The  three 
younger  ones  were  home,  sick  unto  death,  but  they 
had  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  the  doctor  and  al- 
lowed him  to  take  Bessie  to  Bellevue.  Thither  we 
hurried  as  fast  as  the  trolley  would  take  us,  only  to 
find  the  gates  closed  for  the  day.  We  were  not 
relatives,  we  had  no  permits ;  and  whether  Bessie 
were  dead  or  alive,  we  must  wait  until  visiting-hours 
the  next  day  to  discover. 

What  we  found  out  the  next  day,  when  we  filed 
into  the  superintendent's  office  with  the  ill-dressed 
horde  of  anxious  Sunday-afternoon  visitors,  was 
hardly  a  surprise.  We  expected  nothing  but  what 
Eunice  had  predicted  from  the  first.  Bessie  had 
died  the  night  before — died  murmuring  about 
poppies,  the  young  doctor  told  us. 

"  She  's  better  off  where  she  is  than  she  'd  be 
down  at  Wolff's,"  said  Eunice,  as  we  passed  through 

226 


THE  LONG  DAY 

the  gates  on  to  the  street  again.  I  made  no  com- 
ment, and  we  walked  silently  away  from  the  big, 
ugly  brick  pile  that  holds  such  horrors  for  the  poor. 
When  we  reached  Third  Avenue,  Eunice  stopped 
before  a  florist's  window,  and  we  looked  in  at  a 
cluster  of  great  white  lilies.  Neither  spoke,  how- 
ever, and  in  a  moment  we  passed  on  down  Third 
Avenue,  now  brightly  lighted  and  teeming  with  its 
usual  gay  Sunday  night  crowd.  At  last  we  turned 
into  our  own  street,  and  were  in  front  of  the  dark 
building  we  both  called  "  home."  Here  Eunice 
caught  my  hand  in  hers,  with  a  convulsive  little  mo- 
tion, as  might  a  child  who  was  afraid  of  the  dark. 
We  climbed  the  stone  steps  together,  and  I  pulled 
the  bell,  Eunice's  grasp  on  my  hand  growing  tighter 
and  tighter. 

"  Good-by ;  it 's  no  use,"  she  whispered  suddenly, 
dropping  my  hand  and  moving  away  as  we  heard 
the  matron  fumbling  at  the  lock;  and  before  I 
could  utter  a  word  of  protest,  before  I  could  reach  * 
forward  and  snatch  her  from  some  dread  thing,  I 
knew  not  what,  she  had  disappeared  among  the 
shadows  of  the  lamplit  street. 

"  Where 's  the  other  girl?"  asked  the  matron. 
"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied, — nor  have  I  since  been 
227 


THE  LONG  DAY 

able  to  find  the  faintest  clue  to  her  whereabouts,  if 
living,  or  her  fate,  if  dead.  From  that  moment  at 
the  door-step  when  she  said  good-by,  Eunice  stepped 
out  of  my  life  as  completely  as  if  the  earth  had 
opened  and  swallowed  her  up.  Is  she  dead  or  alive? 
Did  the  unhappy  girl  seek  self-destruction  that  June 
night,  or  was  she  swept  into  that  great,  black  whirl- 
pool, the  name  of  which  even  a  girl  of  the  workaday 
world  mentions  always  with  bated  breath?  I  do  not 
know.  I  never  expect  to  know  the  fate  of  Eunice. 
It  is  only  in  stories  that  such  things  are  made  clear, 
usually,  and  this  was  only  an  incident  in  real  life. 


228 


XV 


I  BECOME  A  "  SHAKER  "  IN  A  STEAM-LAUNDRY 

THE  next  day,  Monday,  they  buried  Bessie  in 
a  big,  shabby  Jewish  cemetery  out  on  Long 
Island.  I  did  not  follow  my  comrade  to 
the  grave.  Nor  did  I  go  to  work.  All  that  long, 
beautiful  June  day  was  spent  in  fruitless  search  for 
poor  Eunice. 

This  hopeless  quest,  begun  on  Monday,  was  con- 
tinued for  three  days  in  the  few  hours  that  I  could 
snatch  between  five  o'clock,  the  closing-time  at  the 
shop,  and  ten  o'clock,  the  curfew  hour  at  the 
"  home."  On  Wednesday  the  strain  grew  unbear- 
able. All  the  associations  of  Wolff's  were  tinctured 
with  memories  of  the  dead  Bessie  and  the  lost  Eu- 
nice. Under  the  counter,  in  the  big  pasteboard  box, 
their  checked-gingham  aprons  were  still  rolled  up 
just  as  they  had  left  them,  with  the  scissors  inside; 
and  on  the  pine  table  under  my  eyes  were  their  names 
and  mine,  scrawled  in  a  lead-pencil  by  Bessie's  hand, 
229 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  framed  with  heavy  lines.  Their  high  stools, 
which  were  on  either  side  of  mine,  had  been  given  over 
to  two  new-comers,  also  "  lady-friends,"  who  chewed 
gum  vigorously  and  discussed  beaux  and  excursions 
to  Coney  Island  with  a  happy  vivacity  that  made  my 
secret  misery  all  the  harder  to  bear.  That  night  I 
went  to  the  desk  and  drew  my  money,  tucked  the  two 
aprons  away  in  a  bundle  with  my  own,  and  said 
good-by  to  Wolff's.  The  sum  total  of  my  capital 
now  amounted  to  five  dollars ;  and  with  this  I  felt 
that  I  could  afford  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
week  trying  to  find  Eunice,  and  trust  to  luck  to  get 
taken  back  at  Wolff's  the  following  Monday 
morning. 

After  three  days'  systematic  inquiry,  I  climbed 
the  stairs  to  the  dormitory  late  on  Sunday  night,  no 
wiser  than  I  had  been  a  week  before.  My  discour- 
agement gave  way  to  a  thrill  of  joyous  surprise 
when  I  descried  a  long,  thin  form  stretched  under 
the  gray  blanket  of  Eunice's  cot.  I  sprang  for- 
ward and  laid  an  eager  hand  on  the  thin  shoulder. 

"  Gr-r-r !  Don't  you  try  gettin'  fresh,  Susie 
Jane,  er  I  '11  smash  yer  face!"  snarled  the  angry 
voice  of  a  new-comer,  as  she  pulled  the  coverlet  up  to 
her  eyes  and  rolled  over  on  the  other  side. 

Monday  morning  I  presented  myself  at  the  jewel- 
230 


THE  LONG  DAY 


case  factory,  and  asked  Miss  Gibbs  to  take  me  back. 
But  I  was  already  adjudged  a  "  shiftless  lot,"  not 
steady,  and  was  accordingly  "  turned  down."  Then 
once  more  I  scanned  the  advertising  columns. 

"  Shakers  Wanted. — Apply  to  Foreman  "  was  the 
first  that  caught  my  eye.  I  did  n't  know  what  a 
"  shaker "  was,  but  that  did  not  deter  me  from 
forming  a  sudden  determination  to  be  one.  The  ad- 
dress took  me  into  a  street  up-town — above  Twenty- 
third  Street — the  exact  locality  I  hesitate  to  give 
for  reasons  that  shortly  will  become  obvious.  Here 
I  found  the  "  Pearl  Laundry,"  a  broad  brick  build- 
ing, grim  as  a  fortress,  and  fortified  by  a  breast- 
work of  laundry-wagons  backed  up  to  the  curb  and 
disgorging  their  contents  of  dirty  clothes.  Making 
my  way  as  best  I  could  through  the  jam  of  horses 
and  drivers  and  baskets,  I  reached  the  narrow,  un- 
painted  pine  door  marked,  "  Employees'  Entrance," 
and  filed  up  the  stairs  with  a  crowd  of  other  girls — 
all,  like  myself,  seeking  work. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  we  filed  into  a  mammoth 
steam-filled  room  that  occupied  an  entire  floor.  The 
foreman  made  quick  work  of  us.  Thirty-two  girls 
I  counted  as  they  stepped  up  to  the  pale-faced, 
stoop-shouldered  young  fellow,  who  addressed  each 
one  as  "  Sally,"  in  a  tone  which,  despite  its  good- 

231 


THE  LONG  DAY 


natured  familiarity,  was  none  the  less  businesslike 
and  respectful.    At  last  it  came  my  turn. 

"  Hello,  Sally  !  Ever  shook?  " 

"  No." 

"  Ever  work  in  a  laundry  ?  " 
"  No ;  but  I 'm  very  handy." 
"  What  did  you  work  at  last  ?  " 
"  Jewel-cases." 

"  All  right,  Sally ;  we  '11  start  you  in  at  three  and 
a  half  a  week,  and  maybe  we  '11  give  you  four  dollars 
after  you  get  broke  in  to  the  work. — Go  over  there, 
where  you  seen  them  other  ladies  go,"  he  called  after 
me  as  I  moved  away,  and  waved  his  hand  toward  a 
pine-board  partition.  Here,  sitting  on  bundles  of 
soiled  linen  and  on  hampers,  my  thirty-two  prede- 
cessors were  corralled,  each  awaiting  assignment  to 
duty.  They  were  dressed,  literally,  "  some  in  rags 
and  some  in  tags  and  some  in  velvet  gowns."  Calico 
wrappers  brushed  against  greasy  satin  skirts,  and 
faded  kimono  dressing-jackets  vied  in  filth  and 
slovenliness  with  unbelted  shirt-waists.  A  faded 
rose  bobbed  in  one  girl's  head,  and  on  another's  locks 
was  arranged  a  gorgeous  fillet  of  pale-blue  ribbon 
of  the  style  advertised  at  the  time  in  every  shop- 
window  in  New  York  as  the  "  Du  Barry."  The 
scene  was  a  sorry  burlesque  on  the  boudoir  and  the 

232 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ball-room,  a  grim  travesty  on  the  sordid  realities  of 
the  kitchen  on  wash-day. 

"  Did  yez  come  in  the  barber's  wagon?  "  asked  a 
stupid  Irish  girl,  looking  at  me  curiously.  I  looked 
blank,  and  she  repeated  the  question. 

"  What  does  she  mean?  99  I  asked  a  more  intelli- 
gent girl  who  was  seated  on  a  bundle  in  the  corner. 

"  Did  n't  yez  come  in  Tony's  wagon?  " 

"No;  who 's  Tony?" 

"  Oh,  Tony  he 's  a  barber — a  Ginny  barber — that 
goes  out  with  a  wagon  when  they  run  short  of  help, 
and  he  picks  up  any  girls  he  can  find  and  hauls  them 
in.  He  brought  three  loads  this  morning.  We 
thought  Tony  picked  you  up.  Me  and  her,"  point- 
ing to  a  black-browed  girl  who  was  nodding  to 
sleep  with  her  mouth  wide  open,  "  we  come  in  the 
barber's  wagon." 

The  girl's  face,  fat,  heavy,  dough-colored,  had 
become  suffused  with  amiability,  and  giving  her 
snoozing  comrade  a  gentle  push,  she  made  room  for 
me  on  the  bundle  beside  her. 

"  Ever  worked  at  this  job  before?  "  she  asked. 

"No.   Have  you?" 

She  replied  with  a  sharp  laugh,  and  flinging  back 
the  sleeve  of  her  kimono,  thrust  out  the  stump  of  a 
wrist.    At  my  exclamation  of  horror,  she  grinned. 

233 


THE  LONG  DAY 

"  Why,  that 's  nothing  in  this  here  business,"  she 
said.  "  It  happens  every  wunst  in  a  while,  when 
you  was  running  the  mangles  and  was  tired.  That 's 
the  way  it  was  with  me:  I  was  clean  done  out,  one 
Saturday  night,  and  I  jist  could  n't  see  no  more; 
and  first  thing  I  know — Wo-o-ow!  and  that  hand 
went  right  straight  clean  into  the  rollers.  And  I 
was  jist  tired,  that  's  all.  I  did  n't  have  nothing 
to  drink  all  that  day,  excepting  pop;  but  the  boss 
he  swore  I  was  drunk,  and  he  made  the  foreman 
swear  the  same  thing,  and  so  I  did  n't  try  to  get 
no  damages.  They  sent  me  to  the  horspital,  and 
they  offered  me  my  old  job  back  again;  but  I  jist 
got  up  my  spunk  and  says  if  they  can't  pay  me 
some  damages,  and  goes  and  swears  I  was  drunk 
when  I  did  n't  have  nothing  but  rotten  pop,  I  says, 
I  can  up  and  go  some  place  else  and  get  my  four 
dollars  a  week." 

Before  I  could  ask  what  the  poor  creature  would 
be  able  to  do  with  only  one  hand,  the  foreman  ap- 
peared in  the  door,  and  we  trooped  out  at  his  heels. 
Down  the  length  of  the  big  room,  through  a  maze 
of  moving  hand-trucks  and  tables  and  rattling 
mangles,  we  followed  him  to  the  extreme  rear,  where 
he  deposited  us,  in  groups  of  five  and  six,  at  the  big 
tables  that  were  ranged  from  wall  to  wall  and  heaped 

234 


THE  LONG  DAY 


high  with  wet  clothes,  still  twisted  just  as  they  were 
turned  out  of  the  steam-wringer.  An  old  woman 
with  a  bent  back  showed  me  the  very  simple  process 
of  "  shaking." 

"  Jist  take  the  corners  like  this," — suiting  the 
action  to  the  word, — "  and  give  a  shake  like  this, 
and  pile  them  on  top  o'  one  another — like  this,"  and 
with  that  she  turned  to  her  own  "  shaking  "  and  re- 
sumed gossip  with  her  side-partner,  another  old  wo- 
man, who  was  roundly  denouncing  the  "  trash " 
that  was  being  thrust  upon  her  as  table-mates,  and 
throwing  out  palpable  insults  to  the  "  Ginnies  "  who 
stood  vis-a-vis,  and  who  either  did  n't  hear  or,  hear- 
ing, did  n't  understand  or  care. 

For  the  first  half-hour  I  shook  napkins  bearing 
the  familiar  legend — woven  in  red — of  a  ubiquitous 
dairy-lunch  place,  and  the  next  half -hour  was  occu- 
pied with  bed-linen  bearing  the  mark  of  a  famous 
hostelry.  Duriiig  that  time  I  had  become  fairly 
accustomed  to  my  new  surroundings,  and  was  now 
able  to  distinguish,  out  of  the  steamy  turmoil,  the 
general  features  of  a  place  that  seethed  with  life 
and  action.  All  the  workers  were  women  and  girls, 
with  the  exception  of  the  fifteen  big,  black,  burly 
negroes  who  operated  the  tubs  and  the  wringers 
which  were  ranged  along  the  rear  wall  on  a  platform 

235 


THE  LONG  DAY 

that  ran  parallel  with  and  a  little  behind  the  shak- 
ers' tables.  The  negroes  were  stripped  to  the  waist 
of  all  save  a  thin  gauze  undershirt.  There  was  some- 
thing demoniacal  in  their  gestures  and  shouts  as 
they  ran  about  the  vats  of  boiling  soap-suds,  from 
which  they  transferred  the  clothes  to  the  swirling 
wringers,  and  then  dumped  them  at  last  upon  the 
big  trucks.  The  latter  were  pushed  away  by  relays 
of  girls,  who  strained  at  the  heavy  load.  The  con- 
tents of  the  trucks  were  dumped  first  on  the  shakers' 
tables,  and  when  each  piece  was  smoothed  out  we — 
the  shakers — redumped  the  stacks  into  the  truck, 
which  was  pushed  on  to  the  manglers,  who  ironed  it 
all  out  in  the  hot  rolls.  So,  after  several  other 
dumpings  and  redumpings,  the  various  lots  were  tied 
and  labeled. 

Meanwhile  a  sharp,  incessant  pain  had  grown  out 
of  what  was  in  the  first  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  a  tired 
feeling  in  the  arms — that  excruciating,  nerve-tor- 
turing pain  which  comes  as  a  result  of  a  ceaseless 
muscular  action  that  knows  no  variation  or  relaxa- 
tion. To  forget  it,  I  began  to  watch  the  eight 
others  at  our  particular ,  table.  There  were  four 
Italians,  all  stupid,  uninteresting-looking  girls,  of 
anywhere  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  years  old;  there 
was  a  thin,  narrow-chested  girl,  with  delicate  wrists 

236 


* 

THE  LONG  DAY 

and  nicely  shaped  hands,  who  seemed  far  superior  to 
her  companions,  and  who  might  have  been  pretty  had 
it  not  been  for  the  sunken,  blue-black  cavity  where 
one  eye  should  have  been ;  there  was  a  fat  woman  of 
forty,  with  a  stiff  neck,  and  of  a  religious  tempera- 
ment, who  worked  in  a  short  under-petticoat  and 
was  stolidly  indifferent  to  the  conversation  round 
her;  the  others  were  the  two  old  dames — she  who 
had  initiated  me,  and  her  sprightlier  though  not  less 
ancient  crony,  Mrs.  Mooney.  Both  fairly  bristled 
with  spite  and  vindictiveness  toward  everything  in 
general,  and  us  new-comers  in  particular,  and  each 
sustained  her  nagging  energies  with  frequent 
pinches  of  snuff  and  chunks  of  coffee-cake  which 
they  drew  from  inexhaustible  pockets.  My  at- 
tempts at  conversation  with  these  two  having  been 
met  with  chilling  silence,  and  as  Mrs.  Mooney  had 
given  me  several  painful  thrusts  with  her  sharp 
elbow  when  I  happened  to  get  too  close  to  her,  I  took 
care  to  keep  a  safe  distance,  puzzled  as  to  wherein  1 
might  have  offended,  and  lapsing  into  a  morbid  in- 
terest in  the  gossip  flying  thick  and  fast  around  me. 

The  target  of  scandal  was  "  the  queen,"  a  big, 
handsome  blonde  girl  of  about  twenty-five,  who  in  a 
different  environment  and  properly  corseted  and 
gowned  would  have  been  set  down  unquestionably 

237 


THE  LONG  DAY 


as  "  a  voluptuous  beauty."  Here  in  the  laundry, 
in  stocking-feet  and  an  unbelted  black  shirt-waist 
turned  far  in  at  the  neck,  she  was  merely  "  mushy," 
to  use  the  adjective  of  her  detractors.  The  queen 
owed  her  nickname  to  the  boss,  with  whom  she  was 
said  to  "  stand  in,"  being  "  awful  soft  after  him." 
She  was  a  sort  of  assistant  to  the  foreman,  bossing 
the  job  when  he  was  not  around,  and  lending  a  hand 
in  rush  hours  with  true  democratic  simplicity  such 
as  only  the  consciousness  of  her  prestige  could  war- 
rant her  in  doing.  Now  she  was  assisting  the  black 
men  load  a  truck,  now  helping  a  couple  of  girls  push 
it  across  the  floor,  now  helping  us  dump  it  on  the 
table — laughing  and  joking  all  the  while,  but  at  the 
same  time  goading  us  on  to  the  very  limit  of  human 
endurance.  She  had  been  in  the  "  Pearl  "  for  seven 
years,  slaved  harder  than  any  of  us,  and  she  looked 
as  fresh  and  buoyant  as  if  she  never  had  known  what 
work  was.  I  rather  liked  the  queen,  despite  the 
fact  that  I  detected  in  her  immediately  a  relentless 
task-master;  everybody  else  seemed  to  like  her, 
notwithstanding  the  malicious  things  they  said 
about  her. 

"Tired?"  asked  the  one-eyed  girl.  "Yes,  it  's 
hard  work,  but  it 's  steady.  You  're  never  out  of  a 
job  if  you  're  a  steady  shaker  that  can  be  relied  on." 


THE  LONG  DAY 


There  was  cheerfulness  in  her  tone,  and  both  the 
old  women  stopped  talking. 

"Did  yez  come  in  the  barber's  wagon?"  Mrs. 
Mooney  asked.  On  being  assured  that  we  had  not, 
she  proceeded  to  establish  amicable  relations  with  the 
one-eyed  girl  and  me  by  telling  us  she  was  glad  we 
"  were  n't  Ginnies,  anyway." 

"  Whatever  happened  to  yer  eye  ?  "  inquired  the 
other  crone  of  my  companion. 

Unresentful  of  the  blunt  inquisitiveness,  the  girl 
responded  cordially  with  her  little  story — glad,  ap- 
parently, to  have  a  listener. 

"  It  was  something  I  caught  in  the  hospital  when 
I  had  appendicitis  three  years  ago.  When  I  was 
discharged  my  appendicitis  was  well,  but  my  eye 
had  took  sore.  The  doctor  he  says  when  he  seen  it, 
*  That  eye 's  too  far  gone,  and  it 's  got  to  come  out, 
or  the  poison  '11  spread  to  the  t'other  eye,  and  then 
you  won't  have  no  eyes  at  all.'  My  mother  she 
did  n't  know  nothing  about  it  till  it  was  all  over. 
She  'd  have  carried  on  awful  if  she  'd  knowed  it. 
But  it  did  n't  hurt  a  bit.  I  went  under  chloroform, 
and  when  I  come  out  of  it  I  jist  thought  I  'd  been 
having  a  long  sleep  in  a  big  brass  bedstead,  with 
hem-stitched  sheets  and  things  like  that,"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  hotel  linen  we  were  all  shaking. 

239 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  That 's  the  way  with  them  hospitals,"  said  Mrs. 
Mooney,  sympathetically,  and  proffering  the  hero- 
ine of  the  story  a  chunk  of  spice-cake. 

"  You 'd  been  better  to  ha'  stayed  at  home.  Poor 
folks  don't  have  no  chanst  in  them  high-toned 
places." 

"  Why  don't  you  take  off  yer  shoes  like  us,  and 
let  yer  feet  spread  out? — it  '11  rest  them,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Mooney,  now  passing  me  a  peace-offering  of 
coffee-cake,  and  tightening  her  mouth  in  a  grim 
determination  to  be  civil. 

Indeed,  the  one-eyed  girl's  story  had  wrought  a 
transformation  in  these  two  sullen  old  women.  All 
that  was  human  in  them  had  been  touched  by  the 
tale  of  physical  suffering,  and  we  now  met  on  com- 
mon ground — the  common  ground  of  brute  sym- 
pathy which  one  animal  feels  for  another  in  distress. 

The  work  was  now  under  full  blast,  and  every  one 
of  the  hundred  and  twenty-five  girls  worked  with 
frenzied  energy  as  the  avalanche  of  clothes  kept 
falling  in  upon  us  and  were  sent  with  lightning 
speed  through  the  different  processes,  from  the  tubs 
to  the  packers'  counters.  Nor  was  there  any  abate- 
ment of  the  snowy  landslide — not  a  moment  to 
stop  and  rest  the  aching  arms.  Just  as  fast 
as  the  sweating  negroes  could  unload  the  trucks 

240 


THE  LONG  DAY 


into  the  tubs,  more  trucks  came  rolling  in  from  the 
elevator,  and  the  foaming  tubs  swirled  perpetually, 
swallowing  up,  it  would  seem,  all  the  towels  and 
pillow-cases  and  napkins  in  Greater  New  York. 
Above  the  orchestra  of  noise  I  distinguished  a 
faintly  familiar  voice,  which  I  could  not  place  until 
I  heard: 

"  And  it  was  nothing  but  pop  I  had  that  day — I 
had  n't  had  nothing  but  rotten  old  pop  all  day !  " 

From  the  girl's  argument  it  was  hard  to  determine 
whether  she  was  more  grieved  at  not  having  had 
stronger  potations  than  pop  on  that  fatal  occasion, 
or  at  the  implied  aspersions  upon  her  character  for 
sobriety.  Looking  up,  I  saw  that  she  was  in  one  of 
the  truck-teams.  She  had  her  one  hand  and  arm 
strained  against  the  rear  of  the  sodden  load,  which 
she  was  urging  forward  with  her  hip.  The  load 
happened  to  be  for  our  table,  and  as  we  dumped  it 
out  I  asked  her  if  there  was  n't  anything  easier  she 
could  do.    She  responded  cheerily: 

"  No.  You 've  got  to  have  two  hands  to  run  the 
mangles,  and  you 've  got  to  have  two  hands  to  shake, 
and  you 've  got  to  have  two  hands  to  tie  up,  but  you 
can  push  a  truck  with  one  hand."  Which  statement 
of  the  case,  combined  with  the  cripple's  optimism, 
made  us  laugh — all  except  the  one-eyed  girl,  espy- 
16  241 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ing  whom,  the  maimed  girl  suddenly  changed  the 
tone  of  levity  with  which  she  treated  her  own  mis- 
fortune, and  asked  in  a  lowered  voice:  "What  's 
the  matter  with  yer  eye  ?  "  And  the  hospital  infec- 
tion tale  was  repeated. 

Could  a  duchess  have  claimed  greater  grace  than 
that  poor,  unlettered,  uncouth  creature's  delicate 
perception  of  that  subtle  principle  of  courtesy, 
which  allowed  her  to  jest  over  her  own  misfortunes, 
but  which  prompted  a  gentle  hesitation  in  speaking 
to  another  about  hers ! 

In  the  excruciating  agony  of  the  hours  that  fol- 
lowed, the  trucks  became  a  veritable  anodyne  for  the 
pains  that  shot  through  my  whole  body.  Leaning 
over  their  deep  sides  was  a  welcome  relief  from  the 
strained,  monotonous  position  at  the  tables.  The 
one-eyed  girl  had  likewise  discovered  the  anodyne, 
and  remarked  upon  it  once  as  we  dived  into  the  wet 
freight. 

"  It 's  so  funny  how  one  kind  of  pain  sort  of  eases 
up  another,"  she  said;  "I  always  feel  good  every 
time  I  see  the  truck  coming,  though  trucking 's  far 
harder  work  than  shaking  if  you  had  to  do  it  steady. 
I  wonder  why  it  is.  It  was  the  same  way  with  my 
eye.  When  it  was  getting  better  and  just  ached  a 
little  bit,  steady,  all  the  time,  I  used  to  wish  I  could 

242 


THE  LONG  DAY 


have  real  hard  jumping  toothache,  just  for  a 
change." 

"  God  love  ye,  and  it  's  so,"  fervently  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mooney. 

The  day  was  terrifically  hot  outdoors,  and  with 
the  fearful  heat  that  came  up  through  the  floor  from 
the  engine-room  directly  under  us,  combined  with 
the  humidity  of  the  steam-filled  room,  we  were  all 
driven  to  a  state  of  half -dress  before  the  noon  hour 
arrived.  The  women  opened  their  dresses  at  the 
neck  and  cast  off  their  shoes,  and  the  foreman  threw 
his  suspenders  off  his  shoulders,  while  the  colored 
washers  paddled  about  on  the  sloppy  floor  in  their 
bare  black  feet. 

"  Don't  any  men  work  in  this  place  except  the 
foreman?  "  I  asked  Mrs.  Mooney,  who  had  toiled  a 
long  time  in  the  "  Pearl  "  and  knew  everything. 

"  Love  of  Mary !  "  she  exclaimed  indignantly ; 
"  and  d'  ye  think  any  white  man  that  called  hisself  a 
white  man  would  work  in  sich  a  place  as  this,  and 
with  naygurs  ?  " 

"  But  we  work  here,"  I  argued. 

"  Well,  we  be  wimmin,"  she  declared,  drawing  a 
pinch  of  snuff  into  her  nostrils  in  a  manner  that  in- 
dicated finality. 

"  But  if  it  is  n't  good  enough  for  a  man,  it  is  n't 
MS 


THE  LONG  DAY 


good  enough  for  us,  even  if  we  are  women !  "  I  per- 
sisted. 

She  looked  at  me  half  in  astonishment,  half  in  sus- 
picion at  my  daring  to  question  the  time-honored 
order  of  things.  Economics  could  make  no  appeal 
to  her  intelligence,  and  shooting  a  glance  out  of  her 
hard  old  black  eyes,  she  replied  with  a  logic  that 
permitted  no  gainsaying. 

"  Love  of  Mary !  if  yez  don't  like  yer  job,  ye  can 
git  out.  Sure  and  we  don't  take  on  no  airs  around 
here!" 

At  twelve  the  noise  ceased,  and  a  shrill  whistle 
ushered  in  the  half -hour's  respite.  The  effect  of  that 
raucous  shriek  was  as  solemn,  as  awe-inspiring, 
for  the  first  moment,  as  the  ringing  of  the  Angelus 
bell  in  a  Catholic  country-side.  For  one  moment 
everybody  stood  motionless  and  mute,  the  women 
with  arms  akimbo  on  aching  hips,  the  black  washers 
with  drooping,  relaxed  shoulders.  Each  tortured 
frame  seemed  to  heave  with  an  inaudible  "  Thank 
God !  "  and  then  we  slowly  scattered  in  all  directions 
— some  to  the  cloak-room,  where  the  lunches  were 
stored  along  with  the  wraps,  some  down  the  stairs 
into  the  street. 

On  this  day  the  one-eyed  girl  and  I  found  a  bun- 
dle of  clothes  large  enough  for  two  to  sit  on,  and 

244 


THE  LONG  DAY 

shared  our  lunch.  For  half  a  ham  sandwich  she 
gave  me  a  piece  of  cold  sausage,  and  I  gave  her  a 
dill  pickle  for  a  greasy  doughnut.  The  inevitable 
bottle  of  "  pop  "  neither  of  us  was  able  to  open  until 
the  foreman  came  along  and  lent  his  assistance.  He 
lingered  a  moment  to  talk  the  usual  inanities  that 
pass  between  a  democratic  foreman  and  a  couple  of 
new  girls.  Under  his  jovial  exterior  there  seemed 
to  be  a  vein  of  seriousness,  amounting  almost  to  sad- 
ness when  one  looked  at  his  well-modeled  face  and 
his  steady  gray  eyes.  Tall  and  pale  and  prema- 
turely bent,  he  had  a  certain  distinction,  as  if  he  had 
been  cut  out  for  better  things.  His  manner  had 
lost  all  the  easy  familiarity  of  a  few  hours  before, 
and  he  asked  us  in  the  kindest  tone  possible  how  we 
liked  the  work,  and  heartened  us  with  the  assurance 
that  it  would  n't  be  nearly  so  hard  in  a  few  days, 
telling  us  to  "  stand  slack-like  "  and  see  if  it  did  n't 
make  the  pain  in  our  backs  better.  By  slack-like  he 
meant  stoop-shouldered,  as  everybody  grows  sooner 
or  later  in  a  laundry. 

The  foreman's  hygienic  lecture  was  interrupted 
by  the  warning  rumble  of  the  awakening  machinery, 
and  we  scurried  back  to  our  table  to  make  practical 
test  of  his  theory.  We  followed  it  to  the  letter,  but, 
like  every  other  palliative  of  pain,  it  soon  lost  its 

245 


THE  LONG  DAY 


virtue,  and  the  long  afternoon  was  one  of  unspeak- 
able agony.  There  were  now  not  only  aching  backs 
and  arms  and  legs,  but  feet  parboiled  to  a  blister  on 
the  burning  floors.  The  air  was  rent  with  lamenta- 
tions, and  before  long  my  side-partner  and  I  had 
also  shed  our  shoes.  By  four  o'clock  everybody  had 
sunk  into  a  state  of  apathetic  quiet,  and  even  the 
exuberant  Queen  lost  something  of  her  vivaciousness, 
and  attended  strictly  to  the  business  of  goading  us 
on  to  our  tasks. 

« We  're  two  days  behind  with  them  hospital 

sheets,"  she  screamed  to  one  relay ;  "  S   Hotel 

Barber  Shop  got  to  go  out  to-night,"  which  infor- 
mation brought  groans  from  Mrs.  Mooney. 

"  Mother  of  God !  "  she  cried.  "  Sure  and  that 
means  nine  o'clock  to-night." 

"  Are  n't  we  going  to  get  out  at  six?  "  asked  the 
one-eyed  girl,  while  I  glanced  dismally  at  the  never- 
ending  train  of  trucks  that  kept  rolling  out  upon 
the  washers'  platform,  faster  now  than  at  any  other 
time  of  the  day. 

"  God  love  ye !  dearie,  no,"  returned  Mrs.  Mooney. 
"  Ye  '11  never  get  outside  this  shop  at  six  any  night, 
unless  ye  're  carried  out  dead.  We  're  in  luck  to  get 
out  as  early  as  eight." 

"  Every  night?  " 

246 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  Sure,  every  night  exceptin'  Saturday,  and  then 
it 's  twelve  to  half -past  one." 

"  Oh,  that  's  not  so  bad  if  you  have  a  half-holi- 
day." 

"Half-holiday!"  echoed  Mrs.  Mooney.  "Will 
ye  listen  to  that !  A  half-holiday,  indeed !  "  Then 
the  mocking  voice  grew  kinder.  "  Sure  and  it  's 
every  minute  of  twelve  o'clock  or  a  half-hour  into 
Sunday  mornin'  afore  you  ever  see  the  outside  of  this 
place  of  a  Saturday  in  summer-time,  with  all  the 
washin'  and  ironin'  for  the  summer  hotels  and  the 
big  bugs  as  is  at  the  sea-shore." 

"  Youse  ain't  got  no  kick  coming,"  said  one  of  the 
Ginney  girls.  "  Youse  gets  six  cents  an  hour  over- 
time, and  youse  '11  be  mighty  glad  to  make  that 
exter  money !  " 

Mrs.  Mooney  glared  viciously  at  the  interlopers. 
"  Yes,  and  if  it  was  n't  for  the  likes  of  yez  Ginnies 
that  '11  work  for  nothing  and  live  in  pig-pens,  the 
likes  of  us  white  people  would  n't  have  to  work 
nights." 

"  Well  I  made  ninety-six  cents'  overtime  last 
week,"  spoke  up  the  silent  fat  woman  in  the  under- 
petticoat,  "  and  I  was  thankful  to  the  Lord  to  get 
it." 

Of  the  two  hours  or  more  that  followed  I  have  only 
247 


THE  LONG  DAY 


a  hazy  recollection  of  colored  men  bending  over  the 
pungent  foam,  of  straining,  sweating  women  drag- 
ging their  trucks  round  and  round  the  great  steam- 
ing-room.  I  remembered  nothing  whatever  of  the 
moment  when  the  agony  was  ended  and  we  were  re- 
leased for  the  day.  Up  to  a  certain  dim  borderland 
I  remember  that  my  back  ached  and  that  my  feet 
dragged  heavily  over  the  burning  floor,  two  pieces 
of  boiling  flesh.  I  do  remember  distinctly,  however, 
suddenly  waking  up  on  Third  Avenue  as  I  was  walk- 
ing past  a  delicatessen  store,  and  looking  straight 
into  the  countenance  of  a  pleasant-faced  woman.  I 
must  have  walked  right  into  her,  for  she  seemed 
amused,  and  went  on  her  way  laughing  at  something 
— probably  my  look  of  surprise  as  the  impact 
brought  me  suddenly  to  full  consciousness.  A  clock 
was  hanging  in  the  delicatessen-store  window,  and 
the  hour-hand  stood  at  nine.  A  cooling  sea-breeze 
was  blowing  up  from  the  south,  and  as  I  continued 
my  walk  home  I  realized  that  I  had  just  passed  out 
of  a  sort  of  trance, — a  trance  superinduced  by  phy- 
sical misery, — a  merciful  subconscious  condition  of 
apathy,  in  which  my  soul  as  well  as  my  body  had 
taken  refuge  when  torture  grew  unbearable. 


248 


XVI 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  PROVED  TO  ME  THAT  THE  DARKEST 
HOUR  COMES  JUST  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

THE  next  morning  I  asked  Mrs.  Mooney 
what  time  it  was  when  we  left  the  laundry 
the  evening  before,  and  she  said  half -past 
eight.  Then  I  recounted  the  strange  experience  of 
the  trance,  which  did  not  arouse  the  interest  I  had 
expected. 

"  That  's  nothing.  That  's  the  way  we  all  get 
sometimes,"  she  declared.  "  If  we  did  n't  get  into 
them  trance-spells  there  'd  be  none  of  us  workin' 
here  at  all,  at  all." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  a  prayerful  voice.  "  Praise 
God,  it 's  one  of  his  blessid  pervisions  to  help  us  bear 
our  crosses." 

"  I  don't  think  the  Lord  's  got  much  to  do  with 
our  breaking  backs  or  feet,  do  you?  "  asked  the  one- 
eyed  girl,  as  we  turned  to  unload  a  truck.  "  Now 
I  'm  not  an  unbeliever,  and  I  believe  in  God  and 

249 


THE  LONG  DAY 

Jesus  Christ,  all  right;  but  I  sometimes  think  they 
don't  do  all  these  things  that  the  Methodists  and  Sal- 
vation Army  says  they  do.  Somehow,  I  don't  be- 
lieve God  knows  anything  about  my  eye  or  that  one- 
armed  girl's  getting  hurt  in  the  roller.  I  used  to 
believe  everything  I  heard  the  evangelist  say,  but  I 
don't  think  no  more  that  religion  is  what  it  's 
cracked  up  to  be."  A  few  moments  later  she  asked 
if  I  was  a  Protestant,  too,  and  receiving  an  affirm- 
ative, proceeded  to  express  herself  on  the  superior 
merits  of  that  form  of  faith  as  compared  with  the 
Catholic,  against  which  she  had  all  the  narrow- 
minded  ignorance  and  superstition  which,  strange 
to  say,  only  too  often  characterize  the  better  element 
of  the  class  to  which  she  belonged.  This  girl's  un- 
reasonable prejudice  against  something  of  which 
she  knew  not  the  first  thing  presented  a  paradox 
universal  in  her  world.  The  Catholic  Church  as  an 
institution  was  her  enemy,  and  the  enemy  of  all 
Protestants.  "  If  they  could  kill  you,  and  not  be 
found  out  by  the  law,  they 'd  do  it  just  as  quick  as 
wink,  because  the  priest  would  bail  them  out  of  hell 
for  a  dollar  and  a  quarter."  And  yet,  when  it  came 
to  the  concrete  and  personal,  she  had  to  admit  that 
all  the  Catholics  she  had  ever  known  were  "  just 
about  as  good  as  Protestants." 

250 


THE  LONG  DAY 

This  religious  discussion  was  carried  on  in  a  low 
voice,  with  many  side-glances  toward  the  Catholic 
side  of  the  table,  as  if  danger  threatened  were  they 
to  hear  a  word  of  it.  I  knew,  however,  that  there 
was  nothing  to  fear  from  that  quarter.  There  was 
only  one  religious  conscience  there,  and  that  be- 
longed to  the  one-eyed  girl  herself.  From  innu- 
merable other  instances  I  had  met  with  before  I  had 
come  to  this  generalization :  that  bigotry  and  bitter 
prejudices  in  matters  of  faith,  deplorable  as  they  at 
first  seem  to  be,  mark  a  distinct  step  in  the  social  evo- 
lution and  moral  development  of  the  ignorant  and 
degraded.  Nobody  else  at  that  table  was  far 
enough  along  to  worry  herself  with  principles  of 
faith. 

"  I  think  the  Salvation  Army  's  a  kind  of  good 
religion,"  she  continued;  "only  they — 99  but  I 
heard  no  more;  we  were  interrupted  by  a  flurry  of 
interest  in  the  front,  which  spread  quickly  to  our 
region,  as  a  portly  man  in  an  automobile  coat  and 
Panama  hat  made  his  way  by  the  mangle-machines 
and  the  tables.  The  foreman,  diffident  and  uncer- 
tain, was  walking  by  his  side ;  and  from  the  peremp- 
tory and  numerous  instructions  he  was  receiving,  it 
became  patent  that  his  companion  was  the  "  boss." 
Everybody  looked  hastily,  stealthily,  at  the  Queen, 

251 


THE  LONG  DAY 


who  hid  her  pleasure  under  a  very  transparent  veil 
of  dissembling,  as  she  helped  us  unload  a  truck. 
Never  before  had  I  heard  the  queen  laugh  so  merrily, 
and  never  before  had  I  realized  what  a  superb,  hand- 
some animal  she  was.  There  was  a  certain  rhythmic 
movement  as  she  raised  and  lowered  her  body  over 
the  truck.  The  excitement  of  the  moment  added  a 
deeper  color  to  her  always  splendid  rose-and-white 
complexion,  upon  which  the  steam-laden  atmosphere 
distilled  perpetually  that  soft  dewiness  character- 
istic of  the  perfect  complexion  of  young  children  or 
of  goddesses.  And  like  a  goddess  the  queen  ap- 
peared that  moment, — an  untidy,  earth-chained 
goddess,  mirthful,  voluptuous. 

"  She  thinks  she  's  mighty  fine,  don't  she?  " 
whispered  my  one-eyed  friend. 

The  boss  halted  at  the  truck,  and  the  queen  looked 
up  with  ill-feigned  surprise,  as  if  she  had  n't  known 
for  five  minutes  that  he  was  in  the  room.  He 
seemed  the  personification  of  prosperous,  ignorant 
vulgarity,  and  his  manner,  as  he  swept  his  eye  care- 
lessly over  his  queen's  subjects,  was  one  of  good-na- 
tured insolence.  He  did  n't  tarry  long,  and  if 
guilty  of  the  gentle  dalliance  of  which  he  was  ac- 
cused, it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  he  did  not  allow  it 
to  interfere  with  the  discipline  of  the  "  Pearl." 


THE  LONG  DAY 


At  lunch-time  the  one-eyed  girl  and  I  went  off  to 
the  same  corner  as  before,  and  no  sooner  had  we  be- 
gun to  divide  our  pickles  and  sandwiches  than  in 
sauntered  the  foreman,  munching  alternately  from  a 
cylinder  of  bologna  sausage  in  one  hand  and  a  chunk 
of  dry  bread  in  the  other. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly,  drop- 
ping his  long,  lank  frame  upon  a  bundle  of  hotel 
table-linen.  "  Did  you  try  my  advice  about  standin' 
slack-like?  " 

We  replied  to  his  question  while  the  one-eyed  girl 
carved  a  dill  pickle  and  a  sweet  pickle  each  into 
three  portions. 

He  related  how  he  had  come  to  the  "  Pearl  "  six 
years  ago,  and  had  worked  himself  up  to  his  present 
job,  which  was  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  he  said,  consider- 
ing that  eighteen  dollars  a  week  was  n't  to  be  picked 
up  every  day — and  steady  work,  too,  no  layoffs  and 
no  shut-downs.  He  emphasized  the  fact,  evidently 
very  important  in  his  mind,  that  he  was  n't  married, 
that  he  had  not  met  any  girl  yet  that  would  have 
him,  which  my  companion  insisted  could  n't  possibly 
be  true,  or  if  it  was,  then  none  of  the  girls  he  had 
ever  asked  had  any  taste  at  all.  He  lived  at  home 
with  his  mother,  whom  he  did  n't  allow  to  "  work 
out  "  since  he 'd  been  big  enough  to  earn  a  living  for 

253 


THE  LONG  DAY 


her.  There  was  a  sister,  too,  at  home,  who  had  a  j  ob 
in  a  near-by  manufactory;  but  she  was  engaged, 
and  going  to  be  married  in  her  "  intended's  99  vaca- 
tion. Then,  the  foreman  thought,  he 'd  have  to  get 
a  wife  himself,  if  he  could  find  anybody  to  have  him. 
And  she  would  n't  have  to  work,  either — not  on 
your  tintype !  She  would  live  at  home  with  his  mo- 
ther, and  darn  his  socks  and  sew  on  his  buttons, 
and  she  'd  have  no  washing  or  ironing  to  do,  as  he 
got  his  all  done  for  nothing  in  the  "  Pearl."  That 
perquisite  went  along  with  the  eighteen  dollars  a 
week.  Oh,  she  'd  have  things  as  nice  as  any  hard- 
working young  fellow  could  give  her. 

"  Would  she  have  to  be  purty  ?  "  asked  the  one- 
eyed  girl,  who  seemed  unusually  interested  in  this 
hypothetical  wife,  and  who  took  such  a  lively  inter- 
est in  the  foreman  and  his  plans  that  I  felt  my  heart 
sink  in  pity  for  the  poor  maimed  creature.  Was  she 
hanging  breathless  on  the  foreman's  reply  to  this 
question?  If  so,  there  was  a  certain  comfort  in  the 
gallant  answer. 

"  No,  I  should  say  not,"  he  replied,  as  I  thought 
with  gentle  consideration  of  her  to  whom  he  was 
speaking ;  "  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  trust  a  wife 
who  was  a  ten-thousand-dollar  beaut'.  She 'd  want 
to  gad  too  much.    I  don't  think  looks  count  for 

254 


THE  LONG  DAY 


much;  and  I  'd  think  she  was  pretty,  anyway,  if  I 
was  terrible  stuck  on  her.  Them  things  don't  make 
much  difference  only  in  story-papers.  But  there  \s 
one  thing  she  would  have  to  be,  and  that  is  handy  at 
doing  things.  I  would  n't  marry  a  lazy  girl,  and 
I  would  n't  marry  a  girl  that  was  n't  a  working 
girl." 

The  engines  began  to  give  out  a  warning  rumble, 
and  the  foreman  scrambled  somewhat  reluctantly 
to  Ins  feet,  and  stretching  out  his  long  arms,  started 
off.  t 

"  Say,  that  feller  's  clean,  dead  gone  on  you," 
remarked  my  companion,  closing  her  hand  over 
mine  in  a  pressure  that  was  full  of  congratulation 
and  honest  delight. 

I  scouted  the  idea,  but  nevertheless  I  became  sud- 
denly conscious  of  a  complete  change  in  his  manner 
from  the  easy  familiarity  of  the  morning  before. 
Instead  of  the  generic  name  of  "  Sally,"  or  the 
Christian  name  which  on  better  acquaintance  he  ap- 
plied to  the  other  girls,  he  had  politely  prefixed  a 
"  Miss  "  to  my  surname.  There  had  come,  too,  a 
peculiar  feeling  of  trust  and  confidence  in  him — a 
welcome  sensation  in  this  horrible,  degraded  place; 
and  it  was  with  gratefulness  that  I  watched  him  dis- 
appear in  the  steamy  vista,  throwing  off  his  sus- 

255 


THE  LONG  DAY 

ponders  preparatory  to  plunging  into  the  turmoil 
of  the  afternoon's  work  now  under  way. 

"  Sure  thing  he  is,  I 'd  bet  my  life  on  it,"  she  in- 
sisted, as  we,  too,  hurried  back  to  the  table  and  took 
up  our  towels  and  napkins  once  more.  "  There  's 
no  mistakin'  them  signs,  and  you  'd  be  a  little  fool 
if  you  was  n't  to  help  him  along.  Men 's  all  sort  of 
bashful,  some  more  'n  others,  and  it 's  a  good  thing 
to  help  along.  I  like  the  looks  of  that  fellow — he 'd 
be  awful  silly  and  soft  with  his  wife." 

There  was  gentle  solicitude  in  the  voice,  and  look- 
ing up,  I  was  almost  startled  with  the  radiance  of 
the  girl's  face — the  face  of  a  good  woman  who  loves, 
and  who  takes  a  generous  interest  in  the  love  affairs 
of  another.  As  we  leaned  over  the  truck  and  began 
to  haul  out  its  wet  freight,  she  whispered  to  me : 

"  I  know  all  about  it  because  I've  been  there  my- 
self. I  've  got  a  gentleman-friend,  too,  and  he  's 
awful  nice  to  me.  He  's  been  going  with  me  five 
years,  and  he  did  n't  shake  me  when  I  lost  my  eye. 
Lots  of  fellows  I  know  would  have  backed  out. 
That  's  what  I  like  about  that  foreman.  I  think 
he 'd  do  just  the  same  by  a  girl  he  loved  as  Jim  did 
to  me.  We 'd  have  been  married  this  long  time,  only 
Jim  's  got  his  hands  full  with  a  crazy  mother,  and 
he  says  she  '11  never  go  to  any  asylum  s'  long 's  he 's 
256 


THE  LONG  DAY 


able  to  keep  her;  and  so  Jim's  aunt  she  lives  with 
them  and  tends  his  mother,  and  it  takes  'most  all  Jim 
makes,  because  his  mother  's  sick  all  the  time,  too, 
and  has  to  have  the  doctor  and  be  humored.  But 
I  like  a  man  that 's  good  to  his  mother.  Jim  is  n't 
overly  strong,  either,  and  is  likely  to  break  down." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  my  partner  was  overcome 
by  an  attack  of  sick-headache,  and  dropped  with 
nausea  and  exhaustion.  Mrs.  Mooney  and  the 
Queen  helped  her  to  her  feet. 

"  It  's  them  pickles  and  them  rotten  cold  lunches 
you  girls  eat,"  declared  Mrs.  Mooney,  who  was  fond 
of  talking  on  the  nutritious  properties  of  food. 
"  Now  I  says,  the  Lord  only  give  me  one  stummick, 
and  when  that  's  wore  out  he  '11  never  give  me  an- 
other, and  I  can't  never  buy  one  with  no  money,  and 
I  never  put  anything  in  that  stummick  at  noon  but 
a  good  cold  beer  and  a  good  hot  plate  of  soup,  and 
that  's  what  you  ought  to  do.  Only  cost  you  five 
cents  for  the  both  of  them  together,  down  to  Dev- 
lin's place.  We  go  there  every  day,"  jerking  her 
head  in  the  direction  of  her  crony,  "  and  you  can  go 
along  if  ye  have  a  mind  to." 

In  accordance  with  this  invitation,  we  became 
patrons  of  Devlin's  the  very  next  day.  Promptly 
at  twelve  we  hurried  out,  sleeves  still  rolled  up  and 


THE  LONG  DAY 


our  damp  aprons  unremovcd.  There  was  no  time 
for  making  a  toilet,  Mrs.  Mooney  insisted,  as  Dev- 
lin's was  three  blocks  away,  and  we  had  only  a  half- 
hour.  Across  Lexington,  across  Third  Avenue,  and 
down  one  block,  we  came  to  a  corner  saloon,  and  filed 
in  the  "  ladies'  entrance."  The  room  was  filled  with 
workmen  drinking  beer  and  smoking  at  the  little 
round  tables,  and  when  they  saw  us  each  man  jumped 
up,  and  grabbing  his  glass,  went  out  into  the  bar- 
room. Commenting  upon  this  to  Mrs.  Mooney,  she 
explained  as  we  seated  ourselves: 

"  Sure,  and  what  'd  ye  expect !  Sure,  and  it  's  a 
proper  hotel  ye  're  in,  and  it 's  dacent  wurrkin'-men 
that  comes  here,  and  they  knows  a  lady  when  they 
see  her,  and  they  ups  and  goes !  " 

In  response  to  Mrs.  Mooney's  vigorous  order, 
"  Six  beers  with  the  trimmin's !  "  a  waiter  appeared 
presently  with  a  steaming  tray. 

"  Now  eat  that,  and  drink  that,  and  see  if  they 
don't  go  to  the  spot,"  cried  the  old  woman,  gaily, 
and  we  all  fell  to,  with  table  manners  more  eager 
than  elegant.  Whatever  the  soup  was  made  of,  it 
seemed  to  me  the  best  soup  I  had  ever  eaten  in  New 
York,  and  I  instantly  determined  never  again  to 
blame  a  working  man  or  woman  for  dining  in  a  sa- 
loon in  preference  to  the  more  godly  and  respectable 

258 


THE  LONG  DAY 


dairy-lunch  room.  We  all  ate  ravenously,  and  I, 
who  never  before  could  endure  the  sight  or  smell  of 
beer,  found  myself  draining  my  "  schooner 99  as 
eagerly  as  Mrs.  Mooney  herself. 

"  My !  but  that  braces  me  up,"  she  declared,  sigh- 
ing deeply  and  licking  the  froth  from  her  lips ;  "  it 's 
almost  as  good  as  whisky."  It  was  a  propitious 
moment  to  ask  questions,  and  I  inquired  how  long 
she  had  worked  at  the  "  Pearl." 

"  Eighteen  months,  off  and  on.  I  gets  the  rheu- 
matism and  stay  home  sometimes.  I  believe  in  tak- 
ing care  of  yer  back.  I  says,  I 've  only  got  one  back, 
and  when  that  's  wore  out  the  Lord  ain't  going  to 
give  me  another.  So  I  stay  home ;  but  it 's  so  lone- 
some I 'm  always  mighty  glad  to  get  to  work  ag'in." 

The  long,  long  days  sped  by,  their  torture  re- 
lieved by  such  comfort  as  we  could  find  in  the  gossip 
of  the  table,  and  in  daily  excursions  to  Devlin's, 
where  I  had  become  a  regular  patron.  The  fore- 
man, too,  added  a  little  variety  to  the  monotony  by 
coming  to  our  table  sometimes,  and  shaking  clothes 
for  a  few  moments  with  us,  while  he  gossiped  with 
the  one-eyed  girl  and  me,  which  unusual  proceeding 
filled  her  romantic  soul  with  all  sorts  of  happy  antic- 
ipation.   On  Saturday  morning,  after  he  had  come 

259 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  gone,  she  whispered  ecstatically :  "  That  fellow 
is  stuck  on  you,  and  I  '11  bet  he  '11  be  askin'  you  to  go 
to  the  theayter  with  him — just  see  if  he  don't !  " 

But  alas  for  woman's  dreams !  The  next  day  we 
saw  the  boss  coming  across  the  floor,  this  time  alone. 
He  sauntered  up  to  our  table,  began  to  fling  jokes  at 
us  all  in  a  manner  of  insolent  familiarity,  and  asked 
the  names  of  the  new  faces.  When  he  came  to  me 
he  lingered  a  moment  and  uttered  some  joking  re- 
marks of  insulting  flattery,  and  in  a  moment  he  had 
grasped  my  bare  arm  and  given  it  a  rude  pinch, 
walking  hurriedly  away.  In  a  few  moments  the 
foreman  came  back  and  motioned  me  to  go  with  him, 
and  I  followed  to  the  front  of  the  room,  where  the 
boss  stood  smoking  and  joking  with  the  wrappers. 
The  foreman  retired  a  respectful  distance,  and  the 
boss,  after  looking  me  over  thoughtfully,  informed 
me  that  I  was  to  be  promoted  Monday  morning  to 
the  wrappers'  counter. 

"  And  now  run  away,  and  be  a  good  girl  the  rest 
of  the  day,"  he  concluded,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
and  I  rushed  back  to  the  table,  more  disgusted  with 
the  man  and  his  manner  than  I  was  thankful  to  him 
for  my  promotion  to  a  job  that  would  pay  me  five 
dollars  a  week. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so !  "  exclaimed  my  friend, 
260 


THE  LONG  DAY 


amid  the  excited  comments  and  questions  of  the 
others  at  the  table.  "  That 's  some  of  the  foreman's 
doing,  and  I  'm  real  glad  for  you — it  's  nothing 
more  than  what  I 've  been  expectin',  though." 

This  opinion  was  not  shared,  however,  by  the  rest 
of  my  companions,  who  repeated  divers  terrible  tales 
of  moral  ruin  and  betrayal,  more  or  less  apocryphal, 
wherein  the  boss  was  inevitably  the  villain.  I  now 
found  myself  suddenly  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  the 
target  of  a  thousand  whispered  comments,  as  I 
moved  about  the  workroom.  The  physical  agony 
of  aching  back  and  blistered  feet  was  too  great, 
though,  for  me  to  feel  any  mental  distress  over  the 
fact — for  the  moment  at  least.  In  the  awful  frenzy 
of  the  Saturday-afternoon  rush,  greater  than  that 
of  any  other  day  of  the  week,  I  did  not  care  much 
what  they  thought  or  said  about  the  boss  and  me. 

I  was  shaking  my  towels  and  napkins,  and  trying 
to  look  as  indifferent  as  I  believed  I  felt,  when  the 
foreman  beckoned  me  again,  and  stepping  aside, 
thrust  a  piece  of  yellow  wrapping-paper  into  my 
hand. 

"  Read  it  when  nobody  's  looking,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice ;  "  and  don't  think  wrong  of  me  for  med- 
dling in  what  's  not  my  business  " ;  and  he  was  off 
again. 

261 


THE  LONG  DAY 


A  few  minutes  later  I  read: 

"  You  'd  better  give  up  this  job.  It  's  no  place 
for  a  girl  that  wants  to  do  right.  Come  back  Mon- 
day and  get  your  money;  and  I  would  n't  stay  to- 
night after  six  o'clock,  if  I  was  you,  but  go  home  and 
rest.  If  you  can't  get  a  job  as  good  as  this  inside 
of  a  day  or  two,  I  think  my  sister  can  get  one  for 
you  in  her  place;  but  you  won't  stay  here  if  you 
take  my  advice. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  P. 

"  P.  S.  Please  don't  show  this,  or  I 'd  lose  my  job ; 
and  be  sure  to  come  Monday  evening  for  your 
money." 

I  made  at  once  for  the  cloak-room.  When  I 
emerged,  a  moment  later,  it  was  to  find  the  narrow 
passage  obstructed  by  one  of  the  big  soiled-linen 
trucks,  over  which  "  J.  P."  bent  industriously, 
as  if  he  had  n't  another  thought  in  the  world  beyond 
the  sorting  of  table-cloths  and  napkins.  Suddenly 
he  lifted  up  his  lank  frame,  and  seeing  one  of  his 
workpeople  making  her  escape,  he  called  out : 

"  It 's  not  six  o'clock  yet !  " 

262 


THE  LONG  DAY 


"  I  don't  care  if  it  is  n't ;  I  am  going  home,"  I 
replied  promptly. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  "  he  asked  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  then,  as  he  drew  near,  added  in  an  undertone: 

"  You  read  my  note  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  S'pose  you  kind  of  wonder  at  me  doing  it  ?  "  he 
went  on,  moving  with  me  toward  the  staircase. 

"  No ;  I  guessed  right  away,"  I  answered. 

We  had  now  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  street  door,  and  were  out  of  ear-shot  of  the 
busy  workroom.  The  curious  faces  and  craning 
necks  were  lost  to  us  through  an  interposing  veil  of 
steam.  The  foreman  grasped  my  extended  hand  in 
a  limp,  hasty  clasp  as  I  began  to  move  down  the 
steps. 

"  You  guessed  part,  but  not  all,"  he  whispered, 
turning  away. 

I  dragged  myself  to  the  end  of  the  block  and 
turned  into  Lexington  Avenue  just  as  the  six-o'clock 
whistles  began  to  blow.  So  much  I  remember  very 
distinctly,  but  after  that  all  is  an  indistinct  blur  of 
clanging  street-cars,  of  jostling  crowds.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  had  lost  my  senses  from  the  physical 
agony  I  was  enduring,  though  still  able  to  perform 
the  mechanical  process  of  walking,  or  whether  it  was 

263 


THE  LONG  DAY 

a  case  of  somnambulism;  but  I  know  that  I  walked 
on,  all  unconscious  of  where  I  was  going,  or  of  my 
own  identity,  until  I  came  in  collision  with  some  one, 
and  heard  a  feminine  voice  beg  my  pardon.  Then 
a  little  cry,  and  two  arms  were  thrown  about  me,  and 
I  looked  up  into  the  smiling  face  of  Minnie  Plymp- 
ton  —  Minnie  Plympton  as  large  as  life  and  unspeak- 
ably stunning  in  a  fresh  shirt-waist  and  sailor-hat. 
She  was  smiling  at  me  like  a  princess  issuing  from 
her  enchantment  in  a  rose-bush;  and  lest  she  should 
vanish  as  suddenly  as  she  had  appeared,  I  clutched 
wildly  at  her  arm,  trembling  and  sobbing  at  this 
delicious  awakening  from  the  horrible  nightmare 
that  had  been  my  existence  for  so  man}'  days. 

We  were  standing  on  the  corner  of  Lexington 
Avenue  and  a  cross-town  thoroughfare,  and  ever 
after  must  that  spot  remain  in  my  mind  as  the 
actual  turning-point  of  my  fortunes — indeed,  the 
very  turning-point  of  my  whole  life.  As  I  look 
back  upon  that  beautiful  June  evening,  I  again  hear 
the  rumble  of  the  elevated  trains  in  the  street  beyond, 
and  again  I  hear  the  clang  of  the  electric  cars  as 
they  swirl  out  of  the  avenue  into  the  street.  Prob- 
ably every  man  and  woman  who  ever  came  a  stranger 
to  a  great  city  has  his  or  her  own  particular  secret 
and  holy  place  where  angels  came  and  ministered  in 

264 


THE  LONG  DAY 

the  hour  of  need.  I  do  not  doubt  it,  but  I  do  often 
wonder  whether  every  such  person  visits  his  sacred 
place  as  often  as  I  visit  mine.  I  go  to  mine  very 
often,  especially  in  summer-time,  about  six  o'clock, 
when,  amid  the  roar  and  the  turmoil  and  the  banali- 
ties of  the  real  and  the  actual,  I  recall  the  wondrous 
tale  of  the  Burning  Bush.  For  there  God  appeared 
to  me  that  evening — the  God  who  had  hidden  his 
face  for  so  long. 

"  Why,  you  look  as  weak  as  a  kitten — you  look 
sick !  "  Minnie  declared.  "  You  need  a  good  cup  of 
tea  and  to  be  put  to  bed,  and  I  'm  going  to  be  the 
one  to  do  it  for  you !  " 

I  was  half  dazed  as  Minnie  Plympton  bundled  me 
into  a  passing  electric  car;  and  then,  with  my  head 
leaning  comfortably  on  Minnie  Plympton's  plump 
shoulder,  and  with  Minnie  Plympton's  strong  arm 
about  my  aching  body,  I  was  jolted  away  somewhere 
into  a  drowsy  happiness. 


265 


EPILOGUE 


THREE  years  have  elapsed  since  that  last  day 
in  the  "  Pearl  Laundry  "  and  my  providen- 
tial meeting  with  Minnie  Plympton. 
The  events  of  those  three  years  may  be  recounted 
in  almost  as  few  sentences,  for  prosperous  working 
girls,  like  happy  nations,  have  no  history.  And  we 
have  been  very  prosperous,  Minnie  Plympton  and  I. 
We,  I  say,  because  from  the  moment  of  our  unfore- 
seen meeting  in  the  hurly-burly  of  that  street  cor- 
ner, the  interests  of  Minnie  Plympton's  life  and  of 
mine  were  to  become,  for  the  succeeding  year,  al- 
most inseparable. 

I  said  we  have  both  been  very  prosperous.  But 
Minnie  Plympton  has  been  more  than  that :  she  has 
been  successful — successful  in  the  only  real  way  a 
woman  can,  after  all,  be  successful.  Minnie  is  mar- 
ried. She  is  the  wife  of  an  enterprising  young  busi- 
ness man,  and  the  mother  of  a  charming  baby.  She 
has  been  married  nearly  two  years,  and  lives  in  a 
pretty  cottage  in  a  peaceful  suburb.    It  was  what 

266 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  world  would  call  a  good  match,  and  Minnie  de- 
clares she  is  perfectly  happy.  And  no  doubt  she  is, 
else  that  honest  creature  would  not  be  so  bent  upon 
making  matches  for  everybody  else. 

As  for  myself,  I  have  been  merely  prosperous — 
prosaically  and  uninterestingly,  though  none  the  less 
agreeably,  prosperous.  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
am  happy  or  not.  I  am  still  a  working  girl,  and 
by  all  the  portents  of  the  dream-book  I  am  fore- 
doomed eternally  to  remain  a  wage-earner  in  spite 
of  all  Mrs.  Minnie's  good  offices.  For  I  was  born 
on  a  Saturday ;  and  "  Saturday's  child  must  work 
for  its  living." 

Now,  I  do  not  care  to  be  accused  of  a  supersti- 
tious faith  in  dream-books,  but  I  do  want  to  say 
that  I  have  found  all  sorts  of  inspiration  in  a  philo- 
sophical acceptance  of  that  oracle  attaching  to  my 
unfortunate  birthday.  If  Saturday's  child  must 
work  for  her  living,  why  not  make  the  best  of  it? 
Why  not  make  the  most  advantageous  terms  pos- 
sible with  Fate  ?  why  not  work  with,  and  not  against, 
that  inexorable  Forelady,  in  cooperation  with  her 
plans  and  along  the  lines  of  her  least  resistance  ? 

This  I  have  tried  to  do.  How  I  have  done  it,  and 
what  the  results  have  been,  I  shall  now  try  to  sketch 
with  not  more  attention  to  tedious  details  than  I 

267 


THE  LONG  DAY 


feel  justified  in  assuming  may  be  of  some  help  and 
encouragement  to  other  strugglers. 

I  became  a  stenographer  and  typewriter,  earning 
twenty  dollars  a  week.  I  worked  hard  for  my 
money,  and  the  day  was  still  a  long  day.  I  went 
to  work  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  while 
I  was  supposed  to  get  off  at  five,  and  sometimes  did, 
I  was  often  obliged  to  work  till  six  or  seven. 

And  this  I  called  prosperity?  Yes;  for  me  this 
was  prosperity,  when  I  remembered  the  circum- 
stances of  my  beginnings. 

When  I  met  Minnie  Plympton  on  the  street  cor- 
ner, that  hot  summer  night,  I  was  "  dead  broke," 
not  only  in  purse,  but  in  body  and  spirit  as  well. 
She  took  me  home  with  her  to  the  two  small  rooms 
where  she  was  doing  light  housekeeping,  and  where 
we  continued  to  live  together  until  her  marriage  a 
year  later  broke  up  our  happy  domestic  partner- 
ship. A  few  weeks  after  Minnie  took  me  home  with 
her  I  got  a  position  in  the  notion  department  of  one 
of  the  large  stores.  I  received  only  four  dollars  a 
week;  but,  as  our  rent  was  small  and  our  living  ex- 
penses the  very  minimum,  I  was  able  to  meet  my 
half  of  the  joint  expenditure.  I  worked  four 
months  at  selling  pins  and  needles  and  thread  and 
whalebone  and  a  thousand  and  one  other  things  to 

268 


THE  LONG  DAY 


be  found  in  a  well-stocked  notion  department;  and 
then,  by  a  stroke  of  good  luck  and  Minnie  Plymp- 
ton's  assistance,  I  got  a  place  as  demonstrator  of  a 
new  brand  of  tea  and  coffee  in  the  grocery  depart- 
ment of  the  same  "  emporium."  My  new  work  was 
not  only  much  lighter  and  pleasanter,  but  it  paid 
me  the  munificent  salary  of  eight  dollars  a  week. 

But  I  did  not  want  to  be  a  demonstrator  of  tea 
and  coffee  all  my  life.  I  had  often  thought  I  would 
like  to  learn  shorthand  and  typewriting.  The  dem- 
onstrator of  breakfast  foods  at  the  next  counter  to 
mine  was  taking  a  night  course  in  bookkeeping; 
which  gave  me  the  idea  of  taking  a  similar  course 
in  stenography.  And  then  the  Long  Day  began  in 
earnest.  I  went  to  night-school  five  nights  out  of 
every  week  for  exactly  sixty  weeks,  running  consecu- 
tively save  for  a  fortnight's  interim  at  the  Christ- 
mas holidays,  when  we  worked  nights  at  the  store. 
On  Saturday  night,  which  was  the  off  night,  I  did 
my  washing  and  ironing,  and  on  Sunday  night  I 
made,  mended,  and  darned  my  clothes — that  is, 
when  there  was  any  making,  mending,  or  darning 
to  be  done.  As  my  wardrobe  was  necessarily  slender, 
I  had  much  time  to  spare.  This  spare  time  on  Sun- 
day nights  I  spent  in  study  and  reading.  I  studied 
English  composition  and  punctuation,  both  of  which 

269 


THE  LONG  DAY 


I  would  need  later  on  when  I  should  become  a  sten- 
ographer. I  also  brushed  up  on  my  spelling  and 
grammar,  in  which,  I  had  been  informed — and  cor- 
rectly— the  average  stenographer  is  sadly  remiss. 

As  for  reading,  which  was  the  only  recreation  my 
life  knew,  it  was  of  a  most  desultory,  though  always 
mercenary  sort.  I  read  every  book  I  could  get  out 
of  the  circulating  library  which,  from  its  title  or 
general  character  as  summarized  in  the  newspaper 
reviews,  I  thought  might  help  me  to  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  earning  a  good  livelihood.  The  title  of  one 
book  particularly  attracted  me — a  book  which  was 
so  much  in  demand  that  I  had  to  wait  a  whole  six 
months  before  I  succeeded  in  getting  it  through  the 
slow  and  devious  process  peculiar  to  circulating  li- 
braries. That  book  was  "  Up  from  Slavery,"  and  it 
brought  home  to  me  as  nothing  else  could  have  done 
what  was  the  real  trouble  with  myself  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  struggling,  ill-paid,  wretched  working 
women  with  whom  I  had  come  in  contact  during  my 
apprenticeship.  What  that  trouble  was  I  shall  re- 
vert to  later. 

When  I  had  thoroughly  learned  the  principles  of 
my  trade  and  had  attained  a  speed  of  some  hundred 
and  odd  words  a  minute,  the  hardest  task  was  yet 
before  me.    This  task  was  not  in  finding  a  position, 

270 


THE  LONG  DAY 

but  in  filling  that  position  satisfactorily.  My  first 
position  at  ten  dollars  a  week  I  held  only  one  day. 
I  failed  to  read  my  notes.  This  was  more  because  of 
fright  and  of  self-consciousness,  however,  than  of 
inefficiency.  My  next  paid  me  only  six  dollars  a 
week,  but  it  was  an  excellent  training-school,  and 
in  it  I  learned  self-confidence,  perfect  accuracy,  and 
rapidity.  Although  this  position  paid  me  two  dol- 
lars less  than  what  I  had  been  earning  brewing  tea 
and  coffee  and  handing  it  over  the  counter,  and  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  I  knew  of  places  where 
I  could  go  and  earn  ten  dollars  a  week,  I  chose  to 
remain  where  I  was.  There  was  method  in  my  mad- 
ness, however,  let  me  say.  I  had  a  considerate  and 
conscientious  employer,  and  although  I  had  a  great 
deal  of  work,  and  although  it  had  to  be  done  most 
punctiliously,  he  never  allowed  me  to  work  a  mo- 
ment overtime.  He  opened  his  office  at  nine  in  the 
morning,  and  I  was  not  expected  before  quarter 
after;  he  closed  at  four  sharp.  This  gave  me  an 
opportunity  for  further  improving  myself  with  a 
view  to  eventually  taking  not  a  ten-dollar,  but  a 
twenty-dollar  position.  I  went  back  to  night-school 
and  took  a  three  months'  "  speed  course,"  and  at  the 
same  time  continued  to  add  to  my  general  education 
and  stock  of  knowledge  by  a  systematic  reading  of 

271 


THE  LONG  DAY 


popular  books  of  science  and  economics.  I  became 
tremendously  interested  in  myself  as  an  economic 
factor,  and  I  became  tremendously  interested  in 
other  working  girls  from  a  similar  point  of  view. 
Of  science  and  economics  I  knew  nothing  when  I 
started  out  to  earn  my  living. 

One  day  I  answered  an  advertisement  calling  for 
the  sort  of  stenographer  I  now  believed  myself  to  be. 
It  brought  a  response  signed  with  the  name  of  a 
large  religious  publishing  house.  I  got  the  position, 
beginning  with  a  salary  of  fifteen  dollars  a  week, 
which  was  to  be  increased  to  twenty  dollars  provided 
I  could  fill  the  position.  That  I  should  succeed  in 
doing  so,  there  was  evident  doubt  in  my  employers' 
minds,  and  no  wonder!  For  I  was  the  fifth  to  at- 
tempt it. 

My  work  consisted  for  the  most  part  in  taking 
dictation  from  the  editor  of  the  periodical  published 
weekly  by  the  house — letters  to  contributors,  edi- 
torials, and  special  articles.  Also,  when  it  was  found 
that  I  had  some  intelligent,  practical  knowledge  of 
grammar  and  English — and  here  was  where  my 
studies  of  the  preceding  year  bore  fruit — I  was  in- 
trusted with  the  revision  and  correction  of  the  least 
important  of  the  manuscripts,  thus  relieving  the 
busy  editors  of  one  of  their  most  irksome  tasks. 

272 


THE  LONG  DAY 


One  day  I  had  occasion  to  mention  to  the  editor 
some  of  the  strenuous  experiences  I  had  undergone 
in  my  struggle  to  attain  a  decent  living.  He  was 
startled — not  to  say  a  little  shocked — that  a  young 
woman  of  apparently  decent  birth  and  upbringing 
should  have  formed  such  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  dark  side  of  life.  Inspired  by  his  sympa- 
thetic interest,  I  boldly  interviewed  the  editor  of  a 
well-known  monthly  magazine,  with  the  result  that 
I  immediately  prepared  two  papers  on  certain  of 
my  experiences;  and,  to  my  surprise  and  delight, 
they  were  accepted. 

And,  somehow,  with  the  appearance  of  those  two 
articles — the  first  fruits  of  authorship — part  of  the 
horror  and  loathing  of  that  unhappy  period  of 
servitude  fell  away  from  me;  the  sordid  suffering, 
the  hurt  to  pride,  the  ineffaceable  scar  on  heart  and 
soul  I  felt  had  not  been  in  vain.  I  can  now  look 
back  upon  the  recent,  still  vivid  past  without  a 
shiver;  for  there  is  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
what  I  have  undergone  is  to  be  held  up  to  others 
as  a  possible  lesson  and  warning. 

And  now  a  word  as  to  the  verity  of  this  narrative. 
Have  I  actually  been  through  all  that  I  have  de- 
scribed ?  Yes,  and  more ;  and  in  other  cities  beside 
New  York. 

18  273 


THE  LONG  DAY 


Yet  for  the  sake  of  unity  the  order  of  things  has 
been  somewhat  changed;  and  no  record  is  given  of 
many  weeks,  and  even  months,  when  life  flowed  un- 
eventfully, if  not  smoothly,  on. 

"  But,"  says  the  thoughtful  reader,  "  do  your  sor- 
did experiences  of  some  two  or  three  years  ago  match 
conditions  of  to-day  ?  "  and  I  answer :  Generally 
speaking,  they  do ;  because  lately  I  reinforced  mem- 
ory by  thorough  investigation. 

I  went  further  than  that:  when  it  came  to  me  to 
write  this  little  book — that  is  so  absolutely  a  tran- 
script from  real  life — I  voluntarily  labored,  a  week 
here,  a  week  there,  at  various  trades  allied  to  those 
that  previously  had  been  my  sole  means  of  livelihood, 
and  all  the  time  living  consistently  the  life  of  the 
people  with  whom  I  was  thus  temporarily  associated. 

There  were,  of  course,  many  little  points  that  when 
I  was  a  worker  in  earnest  I  had  not  eyes  to  see,  but 
which  my  recent  conscious  study  brought  out  in 
proper  perspective. 

Yet  it  was  as  a  working  girl  that  I  learned  to 
know  most  of  the  characters  that  people  this  book, 
and  which  give  to  it  any  value  it  may  possess. 

For  obvious  reasons,  I  have  been  obliged  to  give 
fictitious  names  to  factories  and  shops  in  which  I 
worked;  and  I  have,  in  most  cases,  substituted  for 

274 


THE  LONG  DAY 


the  names  of  the  streets  where  the  factories  were 
located  the  names  of  streets  of  like  character. 
*  The  physical  conditions,  the  sordid  wretchedness 

of  factory  and  workshop,  of  boarding-  and  lodging- 
house,  I  have  not  in  any  wise  overstated. 

As  to  moral  conditions,  I  have  not  been  in  every 
instance  so  scrupulously  truthful — that  is,  I  have 
not  told  all  the  truth.  For  it  is  a  truth  which  only 
too  often  will  not  bear  even  the  suggestion  of  tell- 
ing. Only  in  two  or  three  instances — for  example, 
in  my  account  of  Henrietta  Manners — have  I  ven- 
tured to  hint  definitely  at  anything  pertaining  to 
the  shame  and  iniquity  underlying  a  discouragingly 
large  part  of  the  work-girls'  world.  In  my  maga- 
zine articles  I  was  obliged  to  leave  out  all  reference 
to  this  tabooed  topic.  The  attitude  of  the  public, 
especially  the  American  public,  toward  this  subject 
is  a  curious  mixture  of  prudery  and  gallantry.  It 
bridles  at  anything  which  impeaches  the  traditional 
honor  and  chastity  of  the  working  girl.  The  chiv- 
alry of  American  men — and  my  experience  in 
workshop,  store,  and  factory  has  proved  to  me  how 
genuine  and  deep-rooted  that  chivalry  is — combined 
with  our  inherent  spirit  of  democracy,  is  responsible 
for  the  placing  of  the  work-girl,  as  a  class,  in  a  light 
as  false  and  ridiculous  as  that  in  which  Don  Quixote 

275 


THE  LONG  DAY 

was  wont  to  view  the  charms  of  his  swineherd  lady, 
Dulcinea.  In  the  main,  our  notions  of  the  woman 
who  toils  do  more  credit  to  our  sentiments  and  to 
the  impulses  of  our  hearts  than  they  do  credit  to 
our  heads  or  to  any  serious  desires  we  may  cherish 
for  her  welfare.  She  has  become,  and  is  becoming 
more  and  more,  the  object  of  such  an  amount  of 
sentimentality  on  the  part  of  philanthropists,  so- 
ciological investigators,  labor  agitators,  and  yellow 
journals — and  a  goodly  share  of  journalism  that 
prides  itself  upon  not  being  yellow — that  the  real 
work-girl  has  been  quite  lost  sight  of.  Her  name 
suggests,  according  to  their  imaginations,  a  proud, 
independent,  self-reliant,  efficient  young  woman  — 
a  young  woman  who  works  for  her  living  and  is 
glad  of  it.  One  hardly  dares  criticize  her,  unless, 
indeed,  it  be  to  lecture  her  for  an  ever-increasing 
independence  of  her  natural  male  protectors  and  an 
alleged  aversion  to  babies. 

That  we  should  cling  so  tenaciously  to  this  ideal 
is  to  our  honor  and  glory.  But  fine  words  butter  no 
parsnips ;  nor  do  our  fine  idealizations  serve  to  re- 
duce the  quota  which  the  working-girl  ranks  con- 
tribute to  disreputable  houses  and  vicious  resorts. 
The  factories,  the  workshops,  and  to  some  extent  the 
stores,  of  the  kind  that  I  have  worked  in  at  least, 

276 


THE  LONG  DAY 

are  recruiting-grounds  for  the  Tenderloin  and  the 
"  red  light "  districts.  The  Springers  and  the 
"  Pearl  Laundries  "  send  annually  a  large  consign- 
ment of  delinquents  to  their  various  and  logical 
destinations.  It  is  rare  indeed  that  one  finds  a 
female  delinquent  who  has  not  been  in  the  beginning 
a  working  girl.  For,  sad  and  terrible  though  it  be, 
the  truth  is  that  the  majority  of  "  unfortunates," 
whether  of  the  specifically  criminal  or  of  the  pros- 
titute class,  are  what  they  are,  not  because  they  are 
inherently  vicious,  but  because  they  were  failures  as 
•workers  and  as  wage-earners.  They  were  failures 
as  such,  primarily,  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
they  did  not  like  to  work.  And  they  did  not  like  to 
work,  not  because  they  are  lazy — they  are  anything 
but  lazy,  as  a  rule — but  because  they  did  not  know 
how  to  work. 

Few  girls  know  how  to  work  when  they  undertake 
the  first  job,  whether  that  job  be  making  paper 
boxes,  seaming  corset-covers,  or  taking  shorthand 
dictation.  Nor  by  the  term,  "  knowing  how  to  work," 
do  I  mean,  necessarily,  lack  of  experience.  One  may 
have  had  no  experience  whatever  in  any  line  of  work, 
yet  one  may  know  how  to  work — may  understand 
the  general  principles  of  intelligent  labor.  These 
general  principles  a  girl  may  learn  equally  well  by 

277 


THE  LONG  DAY 

means  of  a  normal-school  training  or  through  famil- 
iarity with,  and  participation  in,  the  domestic  labor 
of  a  well-organized  household.  The  working  girl 
in  a  great  city  like  New  York  does  not  have  the 
advantage  of  either  form  of  training.  Her  educa- 
tion, even  at  the  best,  is  meager,  and  of  housework 
she  knows  less  than  nothing.  If  she  is  city-born, 
it  is  safe  to  assume  that  she  has  never  been  taught 
how  to  sweep  a  room  properly,  nor  how  to  cook  the 
simplest  meal  wholesomely,  nor  how  to  make  a  gar- 
ment that  she  would  be  willing  to  wear.  She  usually 
buys  all  her  cheap  finery  at  a  cheap  store,  and  such 
style  and  taste  as  she  displays  is  "  ready  made." 

Not  having  learned  to  work,  either  at  school  or 
at  home,  she  goes  to  the  factory,  to  the  workshop, 
or  to  the  store,  crude,  incompetent,  and,  worst  of  all, 
with  an  instinctive  antagonism  toward  her  task. 
She  cannot  work,  and  she  does  not  work.  She  is 
simply  "  worked."  And  there  is  all  the  difference 
in  the  world  between  "  working "  and  "  being 
worked."  To  work  is  a  privilege  and  a  boon  to 
either  man  or  woman,  and,  properly  regulated,  it 
ought  to  be  a  pleasure.  To  be  worked  is  degrading. 
To  work  is  dignified  and  ennobling,  for  to  work 
means  the  exercise  of  the  mental  quite  as  much  as 
the  physical  self.    But  the  average  working  girl 

278 


THE  LONG  DAY 


puts  neither  heart  nor  mind  into  her  labor;  she  is 
merely  a  machine,  though  the  comparison  is  a  libel 
upon  the  functions  of  first-class  machinery. 

The  harsh  truth  is  that,  hard  as  the  working  girl 
is  "  worked,"  and  miserable  as  her  remuneration  is, 
she  is  usually  paid  quite  as  much  as  she  is  worth. 

For  her  incompetency  she  is  not  entirely  to  blame ; 
rather  is  it  a  matter  of  heredity  and  environment. 
Being  a  girl,  it  is  not  natural  to  her  to  work  sys- 
tematically. The  working  woman  is  a  new  product ; 
in  this  country  she  is  hardly  three  generations  old. 
As  yet  she  is  as  new  to  the  idea  of  what  it  really 
means  to  work  as  is  the  Afro-American  citizen.  The 
comparison  may  not  be  flattering  to  our  vanity,  but, 
after  a  reading  of  Booker  Washington's  various 
expositions  of  the  industrial  abilities  of  the  negro, 
I  cannot  but  be  convinced  that  the  white  working 
woman  is  in  a  corresponding  process  of  evolution, 
so  far  as  her  specific  functions  for  labor  have  been 
developed. 

Conditions  in  the  "  Pearl,"  from  the  view-point 
of  mere  physical  labor,  were  the  most  brutal  in  all 
my  experience ;  but,  from  what  I  can  learn,  the 
"  Pearl  "  is  no  worse  than  many  other  similar  es- 
tablishments. Young  women  will  work  in  such 
places  only  as  a  last  resort,  for  young  women  can- 

279 


THE  LONG  DAY 

not  work  long  under  conditions  so  detrimental  to 
bodily  health.  The  regular  workers  are  old  women 
— women  like  Mrs.  Mooney  and  her  cronies.  The 
steady  workers  at  the  "  Pearl  "  were,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  "  queen,"  all  old  women.  Every  day  saw 
the  arrival  of  a  new  force  of  young  hands  who  were 
bound  to  "play  out"  at  the  end  of  three  or  four 
days'  apprenticeship,  if  not  sooner.  I  played  out 
completely:  I  did  n't  walk  a  step  for  a  week  after  I 
went  home  with  Minnie  Plympton  that  Saturday 
night.  Which  was  all  in  accord  with  Mrs.  Mooney's 
prediction  the  first  day :  "  You  won't  last  long,  mind 
ye ;  you  young  uns  never  do.  If  you  ain't  strong  as 
an  ox  it  gits  in  your  back  and  off  ye  go  to  the 
'orspital;  and  if  you  're  not  able  to  stand  the  driv- 
ing and  thinks  you  're  good-lookin',  off  you  goes  to 
the  bad,  sooner  'n  stay  here." 

I  would  like  to  dwell  for  a  moment  upon  the  char- 
acter and  personality  of  her  whom  I  have  more  than 
once  referred  to  as  the  "  queen."  The  queen  had 
worked,  I  was  told,  for  seven  years  in  the  laundry, 
and  she  was,  as  I  saw  and  knew  her  in  those  days, 
as  fresh  as  the  proverbial  daisy.  She  seemed  the 
very  embodiment  of  blithesome  happiness.  In  the 
chapter  dealing  with  the  laundry  I  had  occasion  to 
speak  of  her  voluptuous  beauty.    Her  long  years  of 

280 


THE  LONG  DAY 

hard  labor — and  she  labored  harder  than  any  one 
else  there — seemed  to  have  wrought  no  effect  upon 
her  handsome,  nerveless  body*  Her  lovely  eyes,  her 
hair,  her  dazzling  complexion  and  perfect  features, 
were  all  worthy  the  reputation  of  a  stage  beauty. 
She  was  kind;  in  her  rough,  uncouth  way,  she  was 
kind  to  everybody — so  kind,  in  fact,  that  she  was 
generally  popular,  though  envied  as  enjoying  the 
boss's  favor.  And,  as  may  be  imagined,  her  influence, 
during  those  seven  years,  upon  the  underfed,  under- 
paid, ignorant,  unskilled  green  hands  who  streamed 
into  the  "  Pearl 99  every  morning  must  have  been 
endless  for  evil. 

On  the  subject  of  morality  I  am  constrained  to 
express  myself  with  apparent  diffidence,  lest  I  be 
misinterpreted  and  charged  with  vilifying  the  class 
to  which  I  once  belonged.  And  yet  behind  my  diffi- 
dence of  expression  I  must  confess  to  a  very  honest 
and  uncompromising  belief,  founded  upon  my  own 
knowledge  and  observation,  that  the  average  work- 
ing girl  is  even  more  poorly  equipped  for  right 
living  and  right  thinking  than  she  is  for  intelligent 
industrial  effort.  One  of  the  worst  features  of  my 
experience  was  being  obliged  to  hear  the  obscene 
stories  which  were  exchanged  at  the  work-table  quite 
as  a  matter  of  course;  and,  if  not  a  reflection  of 

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THE  LONG  DAY 


vicious  minds,  this  is  at  least  indicative  of  loose 
living  and  inherent  vulgarity.  The  lewd  joke,  the 
abominable  tale,  is  the  rule,  I  assert  positively,  and 
not  the  exception,  among  the  lower  class  of  working 
girls  with  whom  I  toiled  in  those  early  months  of 
my  apprenticeship.  The  flower-manufactory  in 
Broadway  was  the  one  glorious  exception.  I  do 
not  attempt  to  account  for  this  exception  to  the  gen- 
eral rule,  unless  it  be  explainable  upon  the  logical 
theory  that  the  skill  necessary  for  the  making  of 
artificial  flowers  is  found  only  in  a  vastly  superior 
class  of  girls.  The  flower-girls  I  met  at  Rosenberg's 
were,  without  exception,  wholesome-minded  and 
pure-hearted.  They  knew  how  to  cook,  as  they  had 
ample  opportunity  of  proving  at  our  luncheons  and 
dinners  during  those  four  busy,  happy  weeks.  I 
never  met  factory-girls  in  any  other  line  of  employ- 
ment who  knew  how  to  make  a  cup  of  tea  or  coffee 
that  was  fit  to  drink.  The  flower-girls  gave  every 
evidence  of  having  come  from  homes  which,  humble 
though  many  of  them  must  have  been,  were  never- 
theless well-ordered  and  clean.  The  girls  I  met  in 
other  places  seemed  never  to  have  lived  in  homes  at 
all. 

In  the  telling  of  the  obscene  story,  Jew  and  Gen- 
tile, Catholic  and  Protestant,  were  equally  guilty. 

282 


THE  LONG  DAY 

That  the  responsibility  for  these  conditions  of 
moral  as  well  as  physical  wretchedness  is  funda- 
mentally attributable  to  our  present  socio-economic 
system  is  a  fact  that  has  been  stated  so  often  before, 
and  by  writers  who  by  right  of  specialized  knowledge 
and  scientific  training  are  so  much  better  equipped 
to  discuss  social  economics  than  I  may  ever  hope  to 
be,  that  I  need  not  repeat  the  axiom  here.  Nor 
would  it  be  any  more  becoming  for  me  to  enter  into 
any  discussion  of  the  various  theories  upon  which 
the  economists  and  the  social  reformers  base  their 
various  projects  for  the  reconstruction  of  the  pres- 
ent system.  Personally  I  have  a  strong  prejudice 
in  favor  of  the  trades-union.  I  believe  that  working 
women  should  awaken  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the 
advantages  to  be  derived  from  organization  of  the 
industries  in  which  they  are  employed.  But  I  seem 
to  be  alone  in  my  cherished  desire.  The  women  and 
girls  I  have  worked  with  in  New  York  do  not  view 
the  trades-union  as  their  more  progressive  and  en- 
lightened sisters  of  Chicago  and  the  West  generally 
choose  to  regard  it.  Chicago  alone  shows  a  roster 
of  nearly  forty  thousand  women  and  girls  who  are 
organized  into  unions  of  their  own,  officered  by  them- 
selves and  with  their  own  feminine  "  walking  dele- 
gates."   I  recently  spent  four  weeks  among  these 

283 


THE  LONG  DAY 

trades-unions,  numbering  thirty-five  distinct  wo- 
men's organizations,  and  I  found,  everywhere  I 
went,  the  same  enthusiasm  for,  and  the  same  superior 
degree  of  intelligence  regarding,  the  aim  and  object 
of  the  organization  idea. 

As  for  the  working  women  of  New  York,  they 
have  so  far  refused  to  countenance  the  trades- 
union.  New  York  has  no  woman's  trades-union. 
A  small  percentage  of  women  workers  belong  to 
labor  organizations,  it  is  true;  but  it  is  merely  as 
auxiliaries  to  the  men's  unions,  and  where  they  work 
at  trades  that  have  been  thoroughly  organized  for 
the  benefit  of  the  men  workers.  They  belong  to 
these  unions  always  under  protest,  not  of  their  own 
volition ;  because  they  are  obliged  to  do  so  in  order 
to  be  permitted  to  work  at  their  trades  in  competi- 
tion with  men  who  are  organized. 

For  this  reason,  owing  to  the  blindness  of  the 
workwoman  to  the  benefits  to  be  derived  from  organ- 
ization,— and  because,  moreover,  it  has  not  yet  been 
proved  that  the  trades-union,  carried  to  its  logical 
conclusion,  is  likely  to  be  a  panacea  for  the  indus- 
trial oes  of  the  sex  which  does  favor  and  support 
it — it  seems  to  me  rather  idle  to  urge  its  wider 
adoption  under  the  protest  of  those  most  vitally  con- 

284 


THE  LONG  DAY 


cerned — the  women  workers  themselves.  The  idea 
of  organized  labor  will  have  to  grow  among  the 
ranks  of  women  workers  just  as  the  idea  has  grown 
into  the  consciousness  of  her  father  and  brother. 

We  have  a  great  and  crying  need  for  two  things 
— things  which  it  is  entirely  within  the  power  of  a 
broad-minded  philanthropy  to  supply.  The  most 
urgent  of  these  needs  is  a  very  material  and  unpoetic 
one.  We  need  a  well-regulated  system  of  boarding- 
and  lodging-houses  where  we  can  live  with  decency 
upon  the  small  wages  we  receive.  We  do  not  want 
any  so-called  "  working  girls'  homes  "  —  God  for- 
give the  euphemism! — which,  while  overcharging  us 
for  the  miserable  accommodations,  at  the  same  time 
would  put  us  in  the  attitude  of  charity  dependants. 
What  the  working  girl  needs  is  a  cheap  hotel  or  a 
system  of  hotels — for  she  needs  a  great  many  of 
them — designed  something  after  the  Mills  Hotels 
for  working-men.  She  also  needs  a  system  of  well- 
regulated  lodging-houses,  such  as  are  scattered  all 
over  the  city  for  the  benefit  of  men.  My  experience 
of  the  working  girls'  home  in  which  I  lived  for 
many  weeks,  and  from  my  observation  and  ir  iries 
regarding  a  number  of  similar  "  homes  "  which  I 
have  since  visited,  justifies  me  in  making  a  few  sug- 

285 


THE  LONG  DAY 


gestions  regarding  the  general  plan  and  conduct 
of  the  ideal  philanthropic  scheme  which  I  have  in 
mind. 

First  and  most  important,  there  must  be  no  sem- 
blance of  charity.  Let  the  working  girls'  hotel  and 
the  working  girls'  lodging-house  be  not  only  self- 
supporting,  but  so  built  and  conducted  that  they 
will  pay  a  fair  rate  of  interest  upon  the  money  in- 
vested. Otherwise  they  would  fail  of  any  truly  phil- 
anthropic object. 

As  to  their  conduct  as  institutions  there  should 
be  no  rules,  no  regulations  which  are  not  in  full 
operation  in  the  Waldorf-Astoria  or  the  Hotel  St. 
Regis.  The  curse  of  all  such  attempts  in  the  past 
has  been  the  insistence  upon  coercive  morality. 
Make  them  not  only  non-sectarian,  but  non-religious. 
There  is  no  more  need  of  conducting  a  working  girls' 
hotel  or  lodging-house  in  the  name  of  God  or  under 
the  auspices  of  religious  sentiment  than  there  is 
necessity  for  advertising  the  Martha  Washington 
Hotel  or  any  fashionable  bachelor-apartment  house 
as  being  under  divine  guidance. 

A  clean  room  and  three  wholesomely  cooked  meals 
a  day  can  be  furnished  to  working  girls  at  a  price 
such  as  would  make  it  possible  for  them  to  live  hon- 
estly on  the  small  wage  of  the  factory  and  store. 

286 


THE  LONG  DAY 


We  do  not  ask  for  luxuries  or  dainties.  We  do  not 
get  them  in  the  miserable,  dark  warrens  where  we 
are  now  obliged  to  sleep,  and  we  do  not  get  them 
at  the  unappetizing  boarding-house  tables  where 
countless  thousands  of  us  find  sustenance.  I  do  not 
know — I  suppose  nobody  does  know — how  many 
working  girls  in  New  York  City  live  in  lodging- 
and  boarding-houses.  But  they  are  legion,  and 
very  few  of  them  are  contented  with  that  life. 

The  most  important  necessity  of  the  model  work- 
ing woman's  hotel  or  lodging-house  would  be,  not  a 
luxurious  table,  not  a  dainty  sleeping-room,  but  a 
parlor!  The  number  of  young  girls  who  go  wrong 
in  a  great  city  like  this  for  want  of  the  various 
necessities  of  a  parlor  must  make  the  angels  in 
heaven  weep.  The  houses  where  the  poorly  paid 
girl  lives  have  no  accommodations  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  her  male  friends.  If  the  house  is  con- 
ducted with  any  respect  for  the  conventions,  the  girl 
lodger  must  meet  her  young  man  on  the  "  stoop  " 
or  on  the  street  corner.  As  the  courtship  progresses, 
they  must  have  recourse  either  to  the  benches  of 
the  public  parks,  provided  the  weather  be  favorable, 
or  else  to  the  light  and  warmth  of  the  back  room  of 
a  saloon.  The  average  cheap  lodging-house  is 
usually  conducted,  however,  with  but  scant  regard 

287 


THE  LONG  DAY 


for  the  conventions,  and  the  girl  usually  is  forced 
to  adopt  the  more  convenient  and,  as  it  would  seem  to 
her,  really  more  self-respecting  habit  of  receiving 
her  company  in  her  room.  And  either  one  of  these 
methods  of  courtship,  it  is  evident,  cannot  but  be  in 
the  end  demoralizing  and  degrading  to  thoughtless 
young  people,  however  innocent  they  may  be  of 
any  deliberate  wrong-doing.  In  the  model  lodging- 
house  there  should  be  perfect  liberty  of  conduct 
and  action  on  the  part  of  guests — who  will  not  be 
"  inmates  "  in  any  sense  of  the  word.  Such  guests 
should  have  perfect  liberty  to  go  and  come  when 
they  please  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night;  be 
permitted  to  see  any  person  they  choose  to  have 
come,  without  question  or  challenge,  so  long  as  the 
conventions  of  ordinary  social  life  are  complied  with. 
Such  an  institution,  conducted  upon  such  a  plan 
and  managed  so  that  it  would  make  fair  returns  to 
its  promoters,  cannot  fail  to  be  welcomed;  and  would 
be  of  inestimable  benefit  as  an  uplifting  and  regen- 
erative force  with  those  for  whom  it  is  designed. 

The  other  need  is  for  a  greater  interest  in  the 
workwoman's  welfare  on  the  part  of  the  church,  and 
an  effort  by  that  all-powerful  institution  to  bring 
about  some  adjustment  of  her  social  and  economic 
difficulties.    I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  believe 


THE  LONG  DAY 


in  the  supreme  efficacy  of  organized  religion  in  re- 
lation to  womanhood,  and  all  that  pertains  to  wo- 
manhood. I  believe  that,  in  our  present  state  of 
social  development,  the  church  can  do  more  for 
the  working  girl  than  any  of  the  proposed  measures 
based  upon  economic  science  or  the  purely  ethical 
theory.  Working  women  as  a  class  are  certainly 
not  ripe  for  the  trades-union,  as  I  have  already  in- 
timated ;  and  the  earnest  people  of  the  "  settle- 
ments "  are  able  to  reach  but  a  small  part  of  the 
great  army  of  women  marching  hopelessly  on,  un- 
generaled,  untrained,  and,  worst  of  all,  uncaring. 

Few  are  they  who,  like  Tolstoi,  can  gracefully 
stoop  to  conquer;  and  those  who  shall  be  ordained 
to  revolutionize  conditions  will  rise  from  the  ranks, 
even  as  did  Booker  T.  Washington.  This,  of 
course,  is  the  ultimate  object  of  settlement  work: 
to  prepare  the  leaven  for  the  loaf. 

But  a  live  and  progressive  church — a  church  im- 
bued with  the  Christian  spirit  in  the  broadest  and 
most  liberal  interpretation  of  the  term — can  do  for 
us,  and  do  it  quickly  and  at  once,  more  than  all  the 
college  settlements  and  all  the  trades-unions  that 
can  be  organized  within  the  next  ten  years  could 
hope  to  do.  And  for  this  reason:  the  church  has 
all  the  machinery  ready,  set  up  and  waiting  only 

19  289 


THE  LONG  DAY 


for  the  proper  hand  to  put  it  in  motion  to  this  great 
end.  The  Christian  church  has  a  vast  responsibility 
in  the  solution  of  all  problems  of  the  social  order, 
and  none  of  those  problems  is  more  grave  or  urgent 
than  the  one  affecting  the  economic  condition  of  the 
wage-earning  woman.  It  is  curious  that  the  church, 
in  this  age,  should  choose  to  regard  its  primary 
function  with  such  evident  apathy.  The  first  busi- 
ness of  the  church  in  the  past  was  the  adjustment 
of  social  difficulties.  The  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ 
was  preeminently  a  social  gospel,  and  when  the 
church  ceases  to  be  a  social  force  it  will  have  outlived 
its  usefulness. 

There  are  those  who  believe  that  the  church  has 
outlived  that  primal  usefulness.  I  do  not  believe  so. 
For  men,  perhaps,  it  has;  but  not  for  women  —  cer- 
tainly not  for  working  women.  We  do  not  as  a  sex, 
we  do  not  as  a  class,  flatter  ourselves  that  we  have 
got  along  so  far  in  race  development  that  we  have 
no  further  need  of  organized  religion.  In  all  my 
experience  of  meeting  and  talking,  often  becoming 
intimately  acquainted,  with  girls  and  women  of  all 
sorts,  I  have  never  known  one,  however  questionable, 
to  whom  the  church  was  not,  after  all,  held  in  re- 
spect as  the  one  all-powerful  human  institution. 

And  yet,  unless  they  were  Catholics,  mighty  few 
290 


THE  LONG  DAY 


went  to  church  at  all,  and  most  of  them  were  re- 
sentful, often  bitter,  toward  the  church  and  hostile 
toward  all  kinds  of  organized  religion.  They  ac- 
cused the  church  of  not  doing  its  duty  toward  them, 
and  they  declared  that  organized  religion  was  a  sham 
and  a  hypocrisy. 

The  only  activity  exerted  by  the  church  in  the 
direction  indicated  partakes  too  strongly  of  the  elee- 
mosynary nature  to  make  it  acceptable  to  any  save 
the  most  degraded — the  weak-chinned,  flabby-na- 
tured  horde  of  men  and  women  who  rally  instinct- 
ively to  the  drum-taps  of  the  street-corner  Salva- 
tionist, or  seek  warmth  and  cheer  on  cold  winter 
nights,  and  if  possible  more  substantial  benefits, 
from  the  missions  and  "  church  houses." 

I  have  no  quarrel  to  pick  with  the  Salvation 
Army,  nor  with  the  city  missions,  as  institutions. 
Both  have  done  too  much  good  for  that  "  ninety  and 
nine  "  which  the  church  forgets.  But  it  is  a  pity 
that  the  work  of  the  Salvation  Army  and  of  the 
city  missions  is  sometimes  relegated  to  the  control 
of  such  incompetent  and  unworthy  persons  as  Hen- 
rietta Manners  and  "  Brother  "  Mason.  Since  my 
brief  acquaintance  with  those  aspiring  reformers,  I 
have  investigated  and  found  that  both  were  promi- 
nent workers  and  "  guides  "  in  the  respective  re- 

291 


THE  LONG  DAY 


ligious  movements  to  which  they  claimed  allegiance; 
I  also  found  that  there  were  other  Henrietta  Man- 
nerses  and  not  a  few  "  Brother  "  Masons  interested 
in  the  same  good  work.  It  is  the  part  of  charity 
and  justice  to  assume  that  their  superior  officers 
were  totally  ignorant  of  their  real  characters. 

But  why  should  these  sacred  duties  be  relegated 
to  the  Henrietta  Mannerses  and  the  "  Brother " 
Masons?  Are  there  not  enough  intelligent,  con- 
scientious Christian  men  and  women  among  the 
churches  who  would  consider  it  not  only  a  duty,  but 
a  precious  privilege,  to  carry  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  into  the  dark  places?  It  is  not  wise  to  set 
a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  and  it  is  worse  than  useless 
to  encourage  the  weak,  not  to  say  the  depraved,  to 
carry  the  gospel  to  their  kind. 

In  the  days  when  I  could  see  no  silver  lining  to 
the  clouds  I  tried  going  to  a  Protestant  church,  but 
I  recognized  very  shortly  the  alienation  between  it 
and  me.  Personally,  I  do  not  like  to  attend  Salva- 
tion meetings  or  listen  to  the  mission  evangelists. 
So  I  ceased  any  pretension  of  going  to  church,  thus 
allying  myself  with  that  great  aggregation  of 
non-church-going  Protestant  working  women  who 
have  been  forced  into  a  resentful  attitude  against 
that  which  we  should  love  and  support.    It  is  en- 

292 


THE  LONG  DAY 


couraging,  however,  to  find  that  the  church  itself 
has,  at  last,  begun  to  heed  our  growing  disaffection 
and  alienation : 

"  The  fact  must  be  admitted  that  the  wage- 
workers  of  this  country  are  largely  outside  the 
churches.  This  breach  has  been  steadily  widening; 
conditions  are  worse  now  than  they  were  ten  years 
ago.  One  of  the  strongest  reasons  for  this  is  the 
fact  that  the  churches  have  not  recognized  so  clearly 
as  they  ought  the  equities  of  this  conflict.  It  is  a 
grave  failure.  They  ought  never  to  have  suffered 
such  an  alienation  to  occur  between  themselves  and 
the  people  who  constitute  the  very  bone  and  sinew 
of  our  civilization,"  says  a  prominent  preacher  and 
reformer. 

"  How  can  the  Christian  church  clear  herself  of 
the  charge  that  the  very  people  who  heard  her  Lord 
gladly  turn  in  multitudes  from  her  threshold  ?  There 
is  need  of  sober  thought  and  deep  humiliation,  that 
this  most  grave  social  problem  may  find  a  solution 
which  shall  bring  honor  to  the  church  and  peace 
to  society."  1 

Obviously  the  fundamental  need  of  the  worker  of 

1  "The  Church  and  Social  Problems,"  by  Rev.  Washington 
Gladden,  D.D.    ("  International  Quarterly.") 

293 


THE  LONG  DAY 


either  sex  is  education.  She  needs  to  be  educated, 
this  work-girl.  She  does  not  need  a  fancy  educa- 
tion; but  she  does  need  a  good  education,  so  that 
upon  her  entrance  into  the  workshop  she  will  be  able 
to  read  and  write  and  add  up  a  column  of  figures 
correctly  and  with  ease.  This  she  seems  not  to  be 
able  to  do  under  present  conditions.  And  there  are 
other  things,  even  more  important  than  the  "  three 
R's,"  which  she  should  be  taught.  She  should  be 
taught  how  to  work — how  to  work  intelligently.  She 
should  be  trained  young  in  the  fundamental  race 
activities,  in  the  natural  human  instinct  for  making 
something  with  the  hands,  or  of  doing  something 
with  the  hands,  and  of  taking  an  infinite  pleasure  in 
making  it  perfect,  in  doing  it  well. 

I  have  no  technical  knowledge  of  pedagogics;  I 
must  admit  that.  My  criticism  of  the  public-school 
system  I  base  entirely  upon  the  results  as  I  have  seen 
them  in  the  workshops,  the  factories,  and  the  store 
in  which  I  worked.  During  this  period  I  had  op- 
portunity for  meeting  many  hundreds  of  girls  and 
for  becoming  more  or  less  acquainted  with  them  all. 
Now,  of  all  these  I  have  not  yet  discovered  one  who 
had  not  at  some  time  in  her  earlier  childhood  or  girl- 
hood attended  a  public  school.  Usually  the  girl  had 
had  at  least  five  years'  continuous  schooling,  but 

294 


THE  LONG  DAY 


often  it  was  much  more.  But,  great  or  small  as  the 
period  of  her  tuition  had  been,  I  never  met  one 
whose  knowledge  of  the  simplest  rudiments  of  learn- 
ing was  confident  and  precise.  Spelling,  geography, 
grammar,  arithmetic,  were  never,  with  them,  posi- 
tive knowledge,  but  rather  matters  of  chance  and 
guess.  Even  the  brightest  girls  showed  a  woeful 
ignorance  of  the  "  three  R's."  In  only  one  thing 
did  I  find  them  universally  well  taught,  and  that  was 
in  handwriting.  However  badly  spelled  and  un- 
grammatical  their  written  language  might  be,  it  was 
invariably  neatly  and  legibly — often  beautifully — 
executed.  But  if  these  girls,  these  workmates  of 
mine,  learned  to  write  clear  and  beautiful  hands, 
why  were  they  not  able  also  to  learn  how  to  spell, 
why  were  they  not  able  to  learn  the  principles  of 
grammar  and  the  elementary  knowledge  of  arithme- 
tic as  far  at  least  as  long  division?  That  they  did 
not  have  sufficient  "  apperceiving  basis  "  I  cannot 
believe,  for  they  were  generally  bright  and  clever. 

It  is  true  that  the  public  schools  are  already 
teaching  manual  training,  and  that  kindergartens 
have  enormously  increased  lately.  These  facts  I 
know  very  well.  I  also  know  how  much  ignorance 
and  senseless  prejudice  the  pioneers  of  these  educa- 
tional reforms  have  had  to  overcome  in  the  introduc- 

295 


THE  LONG  DAY 

tion  of  the  newer  and  better  methods.  The  point  I 
wish  to  make  carries  no  slur  upon  the  ideal  which  the 
best  modern  pedagogy  is  striving  for ;  it  is,  on  the 
contrary,  an  appeal  for  the  support  and  furtherance 
of  that  ideal  on  the  part  of  intelligent  citizenship 
generally,  and  of  conscientious  parenthood  particu- 
larly. I  believe  firmly  in  the  kindergarten ;  I  believe 
that  the  child,  whether  rich  or  poor,  who  goes  to 
kindergarten  in  his  tender  years  has  a  better  chance 
in  life,  all  else  being  equal,  than  the  child  who  does 
not.  I  do  not  know  how  long  the  free  kindergarten 
system  has  obtained  to  any  degree  in  New  York 
City,  but  I  do  know  that  I  have  as  yet  found  only 
one  working  girl  who  has  had  the  benefit  of  any  such 
training  in  childhood.  She  was  "  Lame  Lena  "  at 
Springer's  box-factory;  and  in  spite  of  her  deform- 
ity, which  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  walk  across  the 
floor,  she  was  the  quickest  worker  and  made  more 
money  than  any  other  girl  in  the  shop. 

Tersely  put,  and  quoting  her  own  speech,  the  se- 
cret of  her  success  was  in  "  knowing  how  to  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone,"  and,  again,  "  makin'  of  your 
cocoanut  save  your  muscle."  These  formulas  were 
more  or  less  vague  until  further  inquiry  elicited  the 
interesting  fact  that  "  lame  Lena,"  had  had  in  child- 
hood the  privilege  of  a  kindergarten  training  in  a 

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THE  LONG  DAY 

class  maintained  by  some  church  society  when  the 
free  kindergarten  was  not  so  general  as  it  is  now. 

It  is  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  had  this 
lame  girl's  workmates  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  the 
same  elementary  training,  they  might  have  shown 
an  equal  facility  in  the  humble  task  of  pasting  and 
labeling  and  tissuing  paper  boxes.  "  Lame  Lena  " 
knew  how  to  work;  she  knew  how  to  husband  every 
modicum  of  nervous  energy  in  her  frail,  deformed 
body;  and  thus  she  was  able  to  make  up — more 
than  make  up — for  her  physical  inferiority.  "  Lame 
Lena  "  brought  to  her  sordid  task  a  certain  degree 
of  organizing  faculty ;  she  did  the  various  processes 
rhythmically  and  systematically,  always  with  the 
idea  in  view  of  making  one  stroke  of  the  arm  or  the 
hand  do,  if  possible,  a  double  or  a  triple  duty.  The 
other  girls  worked  helter-skelter ;  running  hither  and 
thither;  taking  many  needless  journeys  back  and 
forth  across  the  floor;  hurrying  when  they  were 
fresh  to  the  task,  dawdling  when  they  were  weary, 
but  at  all  times  working  without  method  and  without 
organization  of  the  task  in  hand,  and  without  that 
coordination  of  muscular  and  mental  effort  which 
the  kindergarten  might  have  taught  them,  just  as 
it  had  certainly  taught  "  Lame  Lena." 

The  free  kindergarten  movement  is  not  yet  old 
297 


THE  LONG  DAY 


enough  to  begin  to  show  its  effects  to  any  perceptible 
degree  in  the  factory  and  workshop.  Henrietta 
Manners  and  Phoebe  Arlington  and  little  Angelina 
were  born  too  soon :  they  did  not  know  the  joy  of  the 
kindergarten;  they  did  not  know  the  delight  of  sit- 
ting in  a  little  red  chair  in  a  great  circle  of  other 
little  red  chairs  filled  with  other  little  girls,  each  and 
all  learning  the  rudimentary  principles  of  work  un- 
der the  blissful  delusion  that  they  were  at  play. 
These  joys  have  been  reserved  for  their  little  sisters, 
who,  sooner  or  later,  will  step  into  their  vacant  places 
in  the  box-factory.  What  was  denied  Angelina  it  is 
the  blessed  privilege  of  Angelina's  baby  to  revel  in. 

Angelina's  baby — the  little  baby  that  she  kept  in 
the  day-nursery  when  we  worked  together  at  Spring- 
er's— now  goes  to  a  free  kindergarten.  I  happen 
to  know  this  because  not  long  ago  I  met  Angelina. 
She  did  not  recognize  me — indeed,  she  had  difficulty 
in  recalling  vaguely  that  I  had  worked  with  her 
once  upon  a  time;  for  Angelina's  memory,  like  that 
of  a  great  majority  of  her  hard-worked  class,  is 
very  poor, — a  fact  I  mention  because  it  is  very  much 
to  the  point  right  here.  My  solicitous  inquiry  for 
the  baby  brought  forth  a  burst  of  Latin  enthusiasm 
as  to  the  cunningness  and  sweetness  of  that  incipient 
box-maker,  who,  Angelina  informed  me,  goes  to  kin- 

298 


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dergarten  in  a  free  hack  along  with  a  crowd  of  other 
babies.  But  Angelina,  bless  her  soul !  is  down  on  the 
kindergarten.  She  says,  with  a  pout  and  a  con- 
temptuous shrug,  "  they  don't  teach  you  're  kid 
nothing  but  nonsense,  just  cutting  up  little  pieces 
of  paper  and  singing  fool  songs  and  marching  to 
music."  Angelina  admitted,  however,  that  her  bam- 
bino was  supremely  happy  there, — so  happy,  in  fact, 
that  she  had  n't  the  heart  to  take  her  away,  even 
though  she  does  know  that  it  is  all  "  tomfoolish- 
ness  "  the  "  kid  "  is  being  taught  by  a  mistaken 
philanthropy. 

It  is  fair  to  suppose  that  in  the  factory  and 
workshop  of  every  description  the  kindergarten  is 
bound  to  work  incalculable  results.  Indeed,  I  some- 
times wonder  if  the  kindergarteners  themselves  can 
quite  realize  how  well  they  are  building — can  fully 
comprehend  the  very  great  need  in  the  working 
woman  of  the  identical  principles  which  they  are  so 
patiently  and  faithfully  inculcating  into  the  tender 
minds  of  these  forlorn  babies  gathered  up  in  the 
courts  and  alleys. 

Another  important  thing  looking  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  working  girl  of  the  future  would  be  the 
wide  dissemination  of  a  better  literature  than  that 
with  which  she  now  regales  herself.    I  have  already 

299 


THE  LONG  DAY 


outlined  at  some  length  the  literary  tastes  of  my 
workmates  at  the  box-factory.  The  example  cited 
is  typical  of  other  factories  and  other  workshops, 
and  also  of  the  department-store.  A  certain  down- 
town section  of  New  York  City  is  monopolized  by  the 
publishers  and  binders  of  "  yellow-backs,"  which  are 
turned  out  in  bales  and  cart-loads  daily.  Girls 
fed  upon  such  mental  trash  are  bound  to  have  dis- 
torted and  false  views  of  everything.  There  is  a 
broad  field  awaiting  some  original-minded  phil- 
anthropist who  will  try  to  counteract  the  maudlin 
yellow-back  by  putting  in  its  place  something  whole- 
some and  sweet  and  sane.  Only,  please,  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Philanthropist,  don't  let  it  be  Shakspere,  or  Ruskin, 
or  Walter  Pater.  Philanthropists  have  tried  before 
to  reform  degraded  literary  tastes  with  heroic  treat- 
ment, and  they  have  failed  every  time. 

That  is  sometimes  the  trouble  with  the  college- 
settlement  folk.  They  forget  that  Shakspere,  and 
Ruskin,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  really  true  and  great 
literary  crew,  are  infinite  bores  to  every-day  peo- 
ple. I  know  personally,  and  love  deeply  and  sin- 
cerely, a  certain  young  woman — a  settlement-worker 
— who  for  several  years  conducted  an  evening  class 
in  literature  for  some  girl  "  pants-makers."  She 
gave  them  all  the  classics  in  allopathic  doses,  she 
gave  them  copies  of  "  A  Crown  of  Wild  Olive 99 

300 


THE  LONG  DAY 


and  "  The  Ethics  of  the  Dust,"  which  they  read 
dutifully,  not  because  they  liked  the  books,  which 
were  meaningless  to  their  tired  heads,  but  because 

they  loved  Miss    and  enjoyed  the  evenings 

spent  with  her  at  the  settlement.    But  Miss   

did  not  succeed  in  supplanting  their  old  favorites, 
which  undoubtedly  she  could  have  done  had  she  given 
them  all  the  light,  clean  present-day  romance  they 
could  possibly  read.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  these 
girls  will  not  read  stories  laid  in  the  past,  however 
full  of  excitement  they  may  be.  They  like  romance 
of  the  present  day,  stories  which  have  to  do  with 
scenes  and  circumstances  not  too  far  removed  from 
the  real  and  the  actual.  All  their  trashy  favorites 
have  to  do  with  the  present,  with  heroes  and  heroines 
who  live  in  New  York  City  or  Boston  or  Philadel- 
phia ;  who  go  on  excursions  to  Coney  Island,  to 
Long  Branch,  or  to  Delaware  Water  Gap ;  and  who, 
when  they  die,  are  buried  in  Greenwood  over  in 
Brooklyn,  or  in  Woodlawn  up  in  Westchester 
County.  In  other  words,  any  story,  to  absorb  their 
interest,  must  cater  to  the  very  primitive  feminine 
liking  for  identity.  This  liking,  this  passion,  their 
own  special  authors  have  thoroughly  comprehended, 
and  keep  it  constantly  in  mind  in  the  development 
of  their  plots. 

This  taste  for  better  literature  could  be  helped 
301 


THE  LONG  DAY 


along  immeasurably  if  still  another  original-minded 
philanthropist  were  to  make  it  his  business  that  no 
tenement  baby  should  be  without  its  "  Mother 
Goose 99  and,  a  little  later,  its  "  Little  Women," 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  and  all 
the  other  precious  childhood  favorites.  As  it  is, 
the  majority  know  nothing  about  them. 

But,  after  all,  the  greatest  factor  in  the  ultimate 
development  of  the  working  girl  as  a  wage-earning 
unit — the  most  potent  force  for  the  adjustment  of 
all  the  difficulties  besetting  her  at  every  turn,  and 
for  the  righting  of  all  her  wrongs,  social,  economic, 
or  moral — will  be  the  attitude  which  she  herself  as- 
sumes toward  the  dispassionate  consideration  of  those 
difficulties  to  be  adjusted,  and  of  those  wrongs  to  be 
righted. 

At  the  present  time  there  is  nobody  so  little  con- 
cerned about  herself  and  her  condition  as  the  work- 
ing woman  herself.  Taking  everything  into  con- 
sideration, and  in  spite  of  conditions  which,  to  the 
observer  viewing  them  at  a  distance  great  enough 
to  get  a  perspective,  seem  irreconcilably  harsh  and 
bitter — in  the  face  of  all  this,  one  must  characterize 
the  working  woman  as  a  contented,  if  not  a  happy 
woman.    That  is  the  great  trouble  that  will  have  to 

302 


THE  LONG  DAY 

be  faced  in  any  effort  to  alleviate  her  condition.  She 
is  too  contented,  too  happy,  too  patient.  But  not 
wholesomely  so.  Hers  is  a  contentment,  a  happiness, 
a  patience  founded,  not  in  normal  good  health  and 
the  joy  of  living  and  working,  but  in  apathy.  Her 
lot  is  hard,  but  she  has  grown  used  to  it ;  for,  being 
a  woman,  she  is  patient  and  long-suffering.  She 
does  not  entirely  realize  the  tragedy  of  it  all,  and 
what  it  means  to  herself,  or  to  her  children  perhaps 
yet  to  be  born. 

In  the  happy  future,  the  working  girl  will  no 
longer  be  content  to  be  merely  "  worked."  Then 
she  will  have  learned  to  work.  She  will  have  learned 
to  work  intelligently,  and,  working  thus,  she  will 
begin  to  think — to  think  about  herself  and  all  those 
things  which  most  vitally  concern  her  as  a  woman 
and  as  a  wage-earner.  And  then,  you  may  depend 
upon  it,  she  will  settle  the  question  to  please  herself, 
and  she  will  settle  it  in  the  right  way. 


303 


THE  PUBLIC'S  ESTIMATE  OF 
"  THE  LONG  DAY" 


EXTRACTS  FROM  REVIEWS 

Miss  Katherine  Symon,  formerly  associated  with  Miss 
Jane  Addams  at  Hull  House,  writes  in  the  Chicago 
Journal: 

"The  Long  Day"  is  not  one  of  the  preaching,  moral- 
izing, sociological  books  that  we  consider  it  our  duty 
to  wade  through.  It  is  a  live  story.  The  fearful 
struggle  of  the  girl  to  earn  her  daily  bread,  her  brave 
fight  against  every  influence  that  tried  to  suck  her 
down  into  the  whirlpool,  is  a  heart-interest  story  that 
far  transcends  the  maudlin  pathos  of  so  many  of  the 
so-called  problem  novels.  .  .  .  The  author  has,  seem- 
ingly unconsciously,  succeeded  in  doing  what  so  many 
writers  have  consciously  striven  for  and  failed  to 
achieve.  She  has  written  down  in  black  and  white 
the  spirit  of  a  city;  the  book  is  a  prose  epic  of  New 
York,  as  well  as  a  faithful  record  of  toil. 

The  elusiveness  of  the  great  city,  that  almost  inde- 
scribable cause  of  its  fascination,  the  oppression  of  its 
mechanical  power,  the  repression  of  individuality,  the 
unceasing  demand  it  makes  upon  its  workers,  all  this 
and  those  myriad  other  influences  that  make  up  its 

20  305 


THE  PUBLIC'S  ESTIMATE  OF 


greatness,  are  between  the  covers  of  this  book,  not  ex- 
pressed in  words  any  more  than  the  city  itself  is 
expressed  in  words,  but  none  the  less  there. 

Jack  London  reviews  the  book  in  the  San  Francisco 
Examiner.    He  says  in  part: 

Here  is  a  true  book.  It  is  a  human  document.  It 
should  be  read  by  every  man,  woman  and  child  who 
cherishes  the  belief  that  he  or  she  is  not  a  selfish 
clod.  ...  It  is  a  record  of  conditions  of  which  we 
Americans  can  scarcely  be  proud.  It  is  a  record  to  be 
read  by  every  patriotic  American  who  sings  "My 
Country,  'tis  of  Thee,  Sweet  Land  of  Liberty,"  and 
who  thinks  that  the  United  States  cannot  be  improved 
upon.  And  it  is  a  record  to  be  read  by  every  person 
who  is  not  a  coward  and  who  is  unafraid  to  face  the 
truth. 

Miss  Agnes  Repplier  writes: 

Of  all  the  recently  published  books  which  deal  with 
the  lives  of  factory  women,  "The  Long  Day"  is  the 
most  vivid  and  engrossing. 

"M.  G.  S."  in  the  Chicago  Record-Herald  says  in  part: 
"The  Long  Day,"  the  story  of  a  New  York  working- 
girl  as  told  by  herself,  is  a  book  to  pull  strongly  upon 
the  heartstrings.  It  is  so  evidently  pitilessly,  yet 
pitifully  true,  that  the  trials  and  struggles  of  this 
unsophisticated  little  country  girl  in  the  city,  hurt  like 
personal   griefs.    The    story   is   told   with   a  quiet 

306 


"THE  LONG  DAY" 


simplicity  that  is  irresistible  in  its  appeal  to  the  sym- 
pathies. .  .  .  Here  is  a  story  as  absorbing  as  the 
cleverest  fiction,  but  with  the  grim  seasoning  of  truth. 

Rose  Pastor  (Mrs.  H.  Phelps  Stokes)  in  The  Inde- 
pendent : 

"The  Long  Day/'  the  story  of  a  New  York  working- 
girl  as  written  by  "Herself/'  holds  the  reader's  in- 
terest from  start  to  finish.  There  can  be  no  shadow 
of  a  doubt  that  "Herself"  is  a  real  flesh  and  blood 
woman  who  has  known  the  despair  of  the  stranger  in 
quest  of  work,  and  the  untold  and  untenable  agonies 
of  "The  Long  Day."  ....  All  the  characters  in  "The 
Long  Day"  are  drawn  with  vitality;  they  are  living, 
breathing,  working-men  and  working-women. 

Rev.  Percy  Grant  of  the  Church  of  the  Ascension, 
New  York,  in  preaching  on  "The  Long  Day,"  declared 
that  if  every  member  of  the  Church  of  the  Ascension 
were  to  read  this  remarkable  story,  the  parish  would 
accomplish  more  for  the  social  and  civic  righteousness 
of  the  city  in  a  year  that  it  would  otherwise  in  five 
years. 

Rev.  Dr.  Washington  Gladden  in  a  recent  sermon  said 
of  this  book: 

"This  note  is  a  challenge.  We  cannot  afford  to 
ignore  it.  If  any  such  opportunity  as  this  confronts 
the  Christian  church  of  to-day,  it  brings  with  it  a  great 
responsibility." 

307 


THE  PUBLIC'S  ESTIMATE  OF 


Lilian  Whiting  writes  in  the  New  Orleans  Times- 
Democrat  : 

A  unique  book  of  the  "human  document"  order  is 
that  one  in  the  recent  autumn  literature  entitled  "The 
Long  Day/'  ....  As  a  realistic  picture  of  the  condi- 
tions of  the  cruder  forms  of  working  life  for  women 
in  a  large  city,  I  am  told  that  this  work  has  no  equal. 
It  is  one  to  be  read  by  philanthropists  in  general,  by 
the  "social  settlement"  workers,  by  the  men  and 
women  who  are  studying  the  conditions  of  the  less 
fortunate  lives. 

The  Congregationalist  declares  that  "no  fiction  we 
have  read  this  year  has  proved  more  absorbing  than 
'The  Long  Day.'  " 

Life  says: 

Its  readers  can  never  again  look  quite  impersonally 
at  a  six  o'clock  outpouring  of  girlish  figures  upon  city 
streets. 

Miss  Helen  M.  Bullis,  general  secretary  of  the  Trav- 
ellers' Aid  Committee,  writes: 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  I  liked  "The  Long 
Day."  It  is  the  most  real  thing  in  my  opinion  that 
has  yet  been  written  upon  the  question. 

Rose  Summer f eld  in  Jewish  Charities  says: 

'The  Long  Day"  is  a  remarkably  well-written  and 
perfectly  true  account  of  the  life  of  almost  any  girl 


"THE  LONG  DAY" 


who  comes  to  New  York  with  very  limited  means  and 
no  friends,  to  search  for  work. 

The  New  York  Evening  Post: 

With  its  disclosures,  its  suggestions,  and  its  hopes, 
"The  Long  Day"  is  a  book  that  must  and  will  be  read. 
It  would  not  be  surprising  to  find  it  coloring  the  coun- 
sels of  them  that  sit  and  devise  relief  for  suffering 
humanity. 

The  World's  Work: 

"The  Long  Day,"  by  an  unknown  author  (and  we 
are  quite  sure  she  is  a  woman),  is  a  piece  of  fiction  that 
is  true.  A  brave,  humorous,  and  sensitive  little  girl 
from  a  small  town  comes  to  New  York  in  response  to 
the  heavy  bells  that  peal  the  monotone  "Work  or 
starve,  work  or  starve."  Her  factory  life  and  the  ex- 
istence of  her  two  "lady  friends"  is  very  terrifying 
and  sobering  to  think  on.  When  "The  Long  Day"  is 
finished,  we  have  learned  a  lesson  in  political  economy, 
and  have  read  a  book  once  that  we  hope  some  day  to 
read  again,  as  soon  as  its  vivid  impression  of  the  world 
where  women  toil  has  become  at  all  dulled;  for  it  is  a 
world  that  men  must  remember  and  work  to  lift  up, 
if  our  civilization  is  ever  to  be  sound. 


309 


mi**0*" 


